Polarity
by EightSixEightSeven
Summary: Finland, 1996. The Eighth Doctor has been called upon by UNIT to investigate not only the discovery of an artefact that should not exist, but also the disappearance of its finders...
1. Episode 1

**Doctor Who**

**POLARITY**

**By Alex Lee Rankin**

**Episode I**

"Firebird Orbiter to remote, you have fourteen minutes to atmospheric insertion. Lock thrusters and prepare to break orbit on my mark."

Commander Velon checked the thruster lock and set it into phase, charging the fuel tanks for the final burst. "What is our current position, Firebird Orbiter?" he asked into the communicator feed.

"Just inside the inner northern polar region of the planet, remote," replied the captain of the orbiter.

"We are considerably off course," Velon observed. "Lunar gravitational disruption must have increased. What is the nearest land mass?"

"There is a northern polar land mass," said the orbiter captain. "It will be suitable for landfall, but not colonisation. The weather conditions are Scale Fifteen."

Velon logged the information in the ship's computer. "Advised course of action, orbiter?"

"Land and take necessary survival measures, and then await further orders, remote," answered the orbiter captain. "Orbiter will return to base. Disengaging connections now. Good luck, Commander. Over and out."

Commander Velon waited for the computerised signal, the mark, the very last signal that he would ever hear from his own people. The signal came, a loud chime over the communicator wave, and Velon fired the thrusters. The ship started to move out of planetary orbit and move into the stratosphere, aiming for a landfall.

Then an alarm went off.

Velon checked the computer. An immense object, almost the size of his own ship, had just materialised in space, just outside orbit, and was on a collision course with the planet below. It had appeared out of nowhere. It was impossible, but it had happened. Velon switched to internal communications. "Commander Velon to Sub-Commander Liong," he announced. "There is an emergency. Report to the command deck immediately."

Less than a minute later, the door behind the cockpit chairs slid open and Liong marched in. "What is the emergency?" he asked as he sat in the empty chair beside Velon's.

"Another craft is about to enter orbit behind us," said Velon.

"That is not possible," said Liong. "There are no other craft in the vicinity."

"The craft materialised one thousand five hundred and thirty-nine point four kilometres above us eighteen seconds before I called you to the command deck."

"Materialised from where?"

"Unknown. There is no explanation."

Liong checked the computer. Velon was, of course, quite correct. "Are evasive manoeuvres possible at our current position and in our current fuel situation?"

Velon checked the computer. "They are unnecessary," he replied. "The craft's trajectory indicates that it will pass us at an interval of one thousand three hundred and seven point two kilometres in six minutes. If we remain on present course we should avoid collision with the craft and also remain outside the impact radius."

Liong strapped himself down. "Prepared for impact, Commander," he reported.

For the next five minutes, everything was smooth. The ship was shaken almost apart as the other object slipped safely by at six minutes, its unusual gravitational presence starting to pull the remote planetary module in its wake at seven. With a struggle the module broke free at eleven minutes.

At fifteen, the antimatter explosion engulfed the entire planet.

The Doctor sat on the steps of the cathedral and looked down into Senate Square. The square was, of course, empty; no one would be stupid enough to be out at three in the morning on a winter day in Helsinki. Thick snow lay everywhere, piled high on rooftops and pavements, and despite the best efforts of those who came out regularly to clear the way, even encroaching into the roads. This snow was a fresh fall and it was still falling, and the Doctor sat on the steps with it falling on him, alone and silent, waiting. The thick fur coat he'd dredged up from the depths of the TARDIS wardrobe kept in a little of his ambient body temperature in a place where it might be of help, but in the current atmosphere he could really have made good use of an electric heater. The TARDIS was nearby, but he couldn't wait inside. They might not know where to look for it, given that he had landed it rather awkwardly and didn't know Helsinki all that well. He made a mental note to pop back one nice warm summer and thoroughly explore the city so that he would know his way around in future. Maybe he'd come in 1918, the first midsummer celebrated by a nation of independent Finns. He smiled at that thought despite the chattering of his teeth.

There was a rumble in the distance, like the sound of an engine, growing louder – growing _nearer_ – and a moment later a massive lorry pulled into the Square. It was an eighteen-wheeler, entirely black with blinkered lights and no markings. It crushed ice and snow under its mighty wheels as it slowed to a halt. The hydraulic brakes hissed loudly and the back doors were flung open. A dozen black-clad figures with torchlights mounted on their shoulders charged across the snow in heavy army boots toward the Doctor and surrounded him, rifles pointed intrusively into his personal space. A few seconds passed without event.

"It's all right," a female voice said. "It's him. This is one of his known avatars." One of the figures, the owner of the voice, pushed through the others, shoving them aside and forcing rifles to point to the ground. "Perkele," she exclaimed. "You look close to hypothermia. Get in the truck. We've got heaters."

"Thank you, Commander..." the Doctor wheezed as politely as he could, observing the military insignia while the woman and another soldier grabbed an arm each and hauled him to his feet, supporting him as they headed back to the truck.

"Makkinen," the woman replied. "And you're welcome, Doctor. Tell me something: have you any idea how highly recommended you come?"

The Doctor managed a wry smile. "I couldn't give a precise estimate."

"MI6, C19, UNIT Emergency Defence Committee, CIA, some of the biggest noises in the United Nations, the US and UK armies and navies... The list is long. You must make one hell of an impression when you get involved."

"I do my best," the Doctor answered the inference modestly. He allowed Makkinen and the other UNIT trooper to pull him up into the truck, and was almost knocked in the face by the blast of warm air. The other troopers climbed into the vehicle and the doors were closed and bolted, and then sealed with a coded electronic locking unit. The Doctor hurried to pull off his fur coat. It was making him sweat. "The inside of this lorry reminds me of a sauna," he hooted. "Or a Turkish bath."

Makkinen grinned wolfishly. "The way Finns like it in the winter, Doctor. By the way, how do you like our mobile operations centre?" She gestured around the interior of the lorry with both hands.

The carriage was packed with the most sophisticated technology that the Earth military powers of 1996 could offer. Computers and scanners were bolted to the metal framework and the floor was carpeted. Strip lighting on the ceiling illuminated the workspace, and swivel-chairs and electric heaters littered the office-like environment. Troopers were getting into seats and operating controls as the engine roared into life. "It's impressive," said the Doctor. "But to be honest you and I both know I'm not here to discuss the decor. The space-time telegraph isn't ever used unless the circumstances are not only deeply unusual, but also potentially a serious threat to human survival."

"We're acquainted with procedure, Doctor," Makkinen answered flatly. "C19 seemed to think that you were the right man for the job. One particular top-ranker gave his personal recommendation."

The Doctor knew instantly who that would have been. How typical of Alistair to take a Ministry job as a means to keeping his hand in. What was that expression about Old Soldiers? The Doctor smiled at the thought of his old friend sitting behind a mahogany desk, barking orders at his secretary as if she were dear old Corporal Bell or someone. He found two empty chairs and positioned them facing one another. "Well," he said to Commander Makkinen as he sat down. "I'll do my utmost to justify his faith." He gestured to the chair facing him.

Makkinen sat down with a sigh. "Okay, first: our destination. This truck is going to make a rendezvous in two hours with a UNIT train heading for Lapland. At Lapland we camp for one night at our temporary HQ and from there go on north in the morning."

"The Pole?" the Doctor asked.

"The Pole, Doctor," Makkinen confirmed. She swivelled in her chair toward a trooper sitting at one of the consoles. "Get me the file, will you?" She watched the soldier march up the truck to the end and open a small bolted-down filing cabinet. A moment later she was handed the small buff folder, which she thrust into the Doctor's hands. "Take a look," she said. "Eight months ago a team of geologists were working just outside Rovaniemi. Some guy had the idea that analysing the ice would turn up ways to reduce Arctic shrinkage, cut back the dangers of tidal waves by cutting down the size of ice masses that sink into the ocean."

The Doctor opened the folder and examined a couple of photos of the North Pole that were pretty but other than that showed nothing of any real interest. "Nice to see someone taking the world's ecological changes seriously," he observed. "And a shame that didn't start happening decades ago."

"Maybe," Makkinen shrugged back. "Take a look at the third photo on the second page."

The Doctor turned the page. The third picture showed two men in protective winter clothing and masks kneeling in the snow, holding up a gleaming black object. It was like a giant lump of coal, much shinier but equally shapeless. "Black ice," he observed.

"That's what they've called it," said Makkinen. "They ran every analysis on it that their equipment allowed for, but they came up with jack. Spectrograph, chemical makeup, everything. That chunk of ice there is not made of anything we've ever heard of."

"I might be able to identify it with equipment in the TARDIS," the Doctor suggested. "By the way, I was hoping that someone might move it for me, put it somewhere for safekeeping." He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and unravelled it. "This is a rough map of its location from where you found me outside the cathedral."

"It's all right, Doctor," Makkinen smirked. "Your... apparatus has been picked up already. Its arrival disturbed the, um, illicit pursuits of a married woman and her lover in a car a few metres away and they called it in. It's being taken to the train."

The Doctor exhaled loudly. "Bit of a cold night for it. Now, perhaps you could show me this chunk of black ice."

Makkinen shook her head. "We don't have it, Doctor. That's why we're investigating. Less than two hours after these images were transmitted to their administrators' office from their camp, the geologists vanished. Every one of them. A team of forty-two guys, all just disappeared."

The Doctor closed the folder. "And next you're going to tell me that you sent people out to look for them, but the search party didn't come back either."

"Not exactly," Makkinen replied cautiously. "The matter was reported to the army, but no one was sent out. Well, not officially."

"I have a feeling I'm not going to like this, but go on."

"The army generals, in their infinite wisdom, decided that a handful of geologists probably getting accidentally buried under an avalanche or something wasn't worth sending out a team of their best guys for, and also they felt that if it were something more sinister than it would be pretty stupid getting their own people killed investigating it."

"Nothing like a little military paranoia and government costcutting to put a few innocent lives in danger. So these geologists are just being abandoned, are they?"

"Not exactly. There was a small team of... freelancers... from Britain who took an interest in the area just after the photos were made public. We did try to stop them becoming public knowledge, but we weren't quick enough. These British guys are archaeologists and historians, and the presence of the black ice interested them. They offered their services to the army, suggesting that they would look for the geologists on the condition that they also be allowed to conduct their own research. The army basically offered these people a bounty of a million UK pounds to share between them on the condition that they bring back any information regarding the disappearances. The army also contacted a group of oil riggers in Alaska and offered them a million US dollars between them if they give the British team a hand. Even loaned them some military scanning equipment. They're still out there, and recently they sent back some thermal images."

The Doctor scowled. "They sent a handful of trowel-scrapers and roughnecks to do their dirty work for them," he observed cynically. "I was right. I don't like it. They get a share in a million pounds, or dollars, and all they have to do is survive whatever got hold of those geologists and bring back some evidence of its existence?"

Makkinen nodded. "Yeah."

"Then I'd say they're getting ripped off," said the Doctor.

"That's as may be," said Makkinen, taking back the file. "But it wasn't my decision to send them out there. Please don't criticise me for the actions of others. Personally I think the decision was crazy for a lot of reasons, including the question of putting civilian lives in jeopardy when we have people who are trained for this kind of work." She opened the file and took out a picture. "Look at this. Thermal imaging equipment that is... on loan... to these guys was used to transmit these pictures. It's the best imaging equipment that money can buy and it got something. It got something three thousand feet under the ice."

The Doctor took the picture and examined it. It was a blur of vivid colours, like a poor digital reproduction of a Picasso, but the shape it made out was clear. "Well, you don't need a doctorate in geometry – or archaeology – to tell what this is," he said.

"The archaeologists are calling it a ziggurat," said Makkinen. "Basically an ancient pyramid of a design that..."

"Thank you," the Doctor interrupted her. "I know what a ziggurat is. But this is no ordinary ziggurat, even in my experience. For one thing it's clearly over sixty-five million years old."

Makkinen gawked. "But that's Cretaceous!" she spluttered. "There's no way there were any human beings around back then, even the humblest troglodytes didn't come along till way after that period, let alone anyone sophisticated enough to build a ziggurat!"

The Doctor nodded gravely. "I completely agree. And that leaves only one logical possibility."

Suddenly Makkinen got the point. "It was built by a civilisation that existed before Man." She thought for a moment. "The reptiles? Silurians?"

"Unlikely," the Doctor replied. "It's not their style. Normally they didn't bother with external architecture. They just built everything inside the natural caves and potholes in whatever rock formations were littered around the planet. Whoever built this ziggurat either had no intention of hiding it from anyone, or..."

"Or..?" Makkinen prompted impatiently.

"Or knew that winter was coming and they'd be snowed under before anyone realised they were there," the Doctor concluded. "During the Cretaceous period the Arctic didn't quite have the amount of ice and snow that it has now, though it did get the occasional dusting of snow. Plants even grew there, and creatures like the Chasmosaurus, Hypacrosaurus and Edmontosaurus even migrated north in the summers to take advantage of the good growing season. There's a chance that the people who built the pyramid arrived when the Arctic was more-or-less an ice-free zone, or perhaps when it was actually freezing over. Have you any idea what the ziggurat's made of?"

Makkinen shook her head. "Scans can't penetrate that deep. We've ordered the expedition to start drilling."

The Doctor didn't like the sound of that word. "Drilling?"

"We need to get a better look at it, Doctor," Makkinen explained. "We need to know what it is in case it's dangerous."

"And you don't think that going down there and poking at it with a drill will make it dangerous?" demanded the Doctor. "When will human beings ever learn that the safest thing to do with something you don't understand is to leave it alone?"

Makkinen sighed. "Doctor, if it wasn't us, it would eventually be someone else, and they might not be trained to handle it."

"How do you know you're trained to handle it? You don't even know what it is."

"We'll find out."

"And if you can't deal with it?"

"That's what you were called in for."

The Doctor dropped back into the chair. "I don't suppose anyone in this lorry has the facilities to make a cup of tea, do they?" he sighed heavily.

Makkinen nodded. "I'll see you get one. Afterwards, get some rest. We have a long journey ahead of us, and we don't know what we will find at its end."

As the Commander walked away, the Doctor closed his eyes and became lost in his thoughts. Something from space had come to Earth a very long time ago, and it had built a pyramid; a pyramid that has since been buried under thousands of tonnes of ice and yet has suffered no structural damage. Whatever that intelligence was that had built the thing, it was clearly extremely technologically advanced, and undoubtedly self-obsessed and ruthlessly determined. After all, anyone who would build a structure that could survive sixty-five million years under tonnes of ice and snow obviously had a thing about immortality.

Chris Styles slid down to the foot of the slippery ice ridge to join his crewmates at the camp, keeping his back pressed to the ice to avoid been flipped over in the event that he slipped. The others were gathered around the generator-powered heating unit, swathed in their parkas, struggling to keep warm. Chris wasn't sure whether the rattling he could hear was the generator or the chorus of chattering teeth. "Kev," he shouted as he landed on his feet. "Nielsen's planted the charges."

Kevin Farrant shook his head disdainfully. "Why the hell do we need bombs for an archaeology job, for crying out loud?" he complained for about the thousandth time since he and the two teams had arrived at the Pole. "Bloody military, telling us what to do. We're civilians. We shouldn't be taking orders from them."

"The million would be pretty useful, Kev," Chris placated him. "Funding for our future projects to last at least another couple of years."

"But we have to blow up potentially valuable archaeological finds so that we can collect it?" Kevin grunted. "I don't know if the money justifies what we might be sacrificing."

Chris sighed. "There are lives at stake too, mate."

"Whose lives?" Kevin retorted. "We've been here two weeks, and have you seen anyone else around here? Even when the snowing stops you can't see much more movement than you'd get from your average polar bear."

"We should at least try and look for them," said Chris. "If only for the sake of our contract." He trudged over to the heating unit and looked around it. One of the girls was pulling out the hotplate carefully. "Got a cup of tea for me, Bex?"

Rebecca Staden took a steaming tin mug from the hotplate and carefully passed it from her gloved hands to Chris's. "I'd sit it in the snow for about five minutes before you try drinking it," she told him with a smirk. "Otherwise you might weld your lip to the rim of the mug."

"Gotcha," Chris chuckled. He sat down on one of the mats and carefully nestled his tin mug in the snow, causing a cloud of vapour to swell around it.

An explosion sounded in the distance.

"That's the first lot gone," Kevin said glumly.

Two more explosions.

"And there go the others," said the other of the two women on the crew. "They'll fire up the drill in about ten minutes, I'd think."

"Shut up, Bryce," Kevin humphed.

Hannah Bryce looked at him sadly. Kevin was an archaeologist before all things, and it was causing him depression. He had been an archaeologist before a father and lost his children; he had been an archaeologist before a husband and lost his wife. All he ever did was obsess about history, and Hannah felt sorry for him because he was becoming more buried in the past than the artefacts to whose recovery he devoted his every waking hour. She strode over to Chris and dropped down on the mat next to him. "He's getting worse," she said quietly.

Chris picked up his tea and took a tentative sip. It was fine. "Well, I've done my best and you've done your best," he said pessimistically. "Shall we pass it around, see if Bex or Eddie or Jukebox can do anything about it? Somehow I think they'll do was well as we've been doing."

Hannah nodded in agreement. "I was thinking actually we should stand him down from the project," she whispered. "Let him have his share of the million, but get him out of the way so that we can all get on with finding and surveying the ziggurat."

"And you want me to have a word with the others to that effect, I take it?"

"You're a nice guy, Chris. We all like and respect you, the others will listen if it's you doing the talking. The only person who won't listen is the very person who's at the centre of the trouble, and he isn't listening to anyone right now."

"I don't like it. It feels like mutiny."

"What's he gonna do, Christian? Make you walk the plank?"

Chris sighed heavily and swigged the last of his tea down. "Why do I let you get me into these situations?" he asked with a wry smile.

Hannah grinned back at him. "Because you adore me, of course," she laughed as she got up and went back to the heater.

The drill roared into life. Kevin could feel the ground vibrating under his feet. It was making his face itch. "Shut that bloody noise off!" he hollered up the ridge. "Can't hear myself think down here."

"No can do, Kevin," an American voice shouted back from the top of the ridge. "Drilling's in the mission statement, and we gotta get down there."

"Piss off, Nielsen!" Kevin shouted.

"Can't do that either," Nielsen laughed. "There's a cool million in it for us guys. Anyway, I just came to tell you we got a real good fracture from the bombs. If my boys hit that crack with everything they got, we can expect to hit the target in forty-eight hours."

Kevin's attitude brightened a little at the thought of the spectacular find being so close. "That's not bad," he crowed excitedly. "Can we really get down there that quickly?"

"Sure," Nielsen told him. "Oh yeah, and we just got a call on the radio. There's a military investigation team coming out to look at the pyramid."

"It's a ziggurat," Kevin corrected him.

"Trust me, dude," Nielsen replied flippantly. "It's a pyramid. I know what a goddamn cigarette looks like and this ain't it. Those investigators should be here about an hour before breakthrough."

Kevin didn't like that at all. It had been agreed that there would be no actual military presence in the area until all the archaeology had been done, the finds collected, labelled, recorded and taken for examination. A bunch of clodhopping military buffoons were sure to damage or misplace something extremely valuable and mess up the project. But as soon as they'd sent back a thermal image of the ziggurat the army had changed its collective mind and decided to come in and take a look. Worse, they weren't even going to come and help with the dig. They'd just be popping up at the last minute to see all the work done for them. "Why aren't you supervising the drilling?" he called to Nielsen.

"Why aren't you sticking your trowel in the ice and trying to find something historical?" the gruff American retorted. "I came to give you the message, and now I gotta get back." And in an instant he was gone.

Kevin turned to face his own small crew, who by now were all huddled around the heater, chatting animatedly about the exciting prospect of finally seeing the amazing historical anomaly beneath the ice. "Well, everyone," he announced verbosely. "Looks like by tomorrow night we'll be in possession of the greatest archaeological find in history."

The black BMW crunched gravel under its tyres as it slinked through the gates and rolled up to the house. It drew to a halt alongside the green Jaguar that belonged to the house's owner and the door was opened. Armani shoes pressed onto the drive and the door of the BMW was closed. Leather-gloved hands held out the key fob and the car gave the usual beep to signify that its alarm system had been activated. The driver checked the handcuffs that held the briefcase to his left wrist and, satisfied that they were still secure, strode up to the large, heavy wooden front door of the small mansion. The door opened after precisely fourteen seconds and a stout, shaven-headed man, awkwardly squeezed into a black suit, white shirt and black bowtie, allowed the man inside without speaking a word but closing the door behind him. The visitor allowed the butler to lead him across the hall to the parlour. The parlour door was, like the front door had been, closed, and the butler knocked on it. A woman's voice called him to enter. "If you'd just like to wait here for a moment please, sir," the butler said with eloquence that seemed as unbefitting him as that suit.

"The lady is expecting me," the visitor insisted, struggling to be polite. He was a less than patient man at the best of times.

"I dare say, sir," the butler smiled patronisingly. "Still, there are the correct protocols to be observed, and so you'll excuse me if I announce you properly." Without waiting for the visitor's gruff reply, the butler opened the door and stepped into the parlour. "Mr Azikiwe to see you, Madam," he announced smoothly.

The woman carefully closed the book that she had been reading and placed it on the small table beside her chair before looking up and directly at the butler. "Thank you, Forrester," she said coolly and casually. "Show him in."

Forrester gave a slight nod. "Very good, Madam," he said and extended a hand toward the door in an inviting gesture. "If you'd care to enter, sir."

Chimela Azikiwe stepped into the room and waited for Forrester to leave and close the door behind him before speaking. "A tissue," he asked slowly.

"Bless you," the woman replied with the most cordial sarcasm.

"I will not ask again," Azikiwe said impatiently.

The woman sighed and stood up, her black stiletto heels making up for her lack of height as she walked – almost danced – to a small sideboard and opened a draw. She took out a pack of handy tissues and threw them in his direction. There was a crystal decanter and a couple of whisky glasses on that sideboard too. "Care for a drink?"

"Saltwater," said Azikiwe.

Raising an eyebrow, the woman returned to the table beside her chair and pressed the button on the intercom set that sat there. "A glass of saltwater, please," she said, and took her finger away from the button without waiting for a reply. Fifty-six seconds passed and a maid came in with a tall glass on a tray. "For our guest, Moira," the woman said.

The little maid offered the tray to Azikiwe. When he took the glass she curtseyed and scurried away back to her duties, closing the door behind them. "Pretty little thing," Azikiwe observed, his thick Nigerian accent making the observation sound sinister.

"My footman thinks so too," smiled the woman. "He's marrying her in three weeks. They've both decided to stay in my service, and they'll know how grateful I am for that when I hand over their wedding present."

Azikiwe snorted. "Let's not make small talk," he said dismissively and he drank the saltwater in a single violent gulp. A moment later he started retching and hastily opened the pack of tissues, ripping one out and letting the pack fall onto the rich Axminster carpet as he covered his mouth. A moment later he was taking deep recovering breaths as he rubbed at something that he had regurgitated into the tissue. Satisfied that it was clean, he produced a tiny, shining key and offered it to the lady of the house.

"Please," she said, eyeing it distastefully. "Do be my guest."

Shrugging, Azikiwe opened the handcuffs and carried the briefcase to the sideboard, resting it beside the decanter and carefully entering the combination to release its locks. The case was opened and Azikiwe took out the brown folder, revealing the small collection of handguns carefully secured beneath. He passed the folder to the woman, eyeing her carefully as she took it, glad that he had another gun in his shoulder holster under his suit jacket. "You can see, Miss Lomax," Azikiwe told her as she examined the files. "The thermal imager shows that there is a pyramid under the ice that is at least sixty-five million years old. Evidence of Man in the times of the dinosaurs."

"I can read, Mr Azikiwe," Lomax replied curtly, flicking through the files. "And you want me to reimburse you the costs of your acquisition of this information, I take it?"

Azikiwe grinned. "I was thinking of something a little more enterprising, Miss Lomax," he said, and this time it wasn't his accent making his words seem sinister.

Lomax sat down in her chair again, file still in her hand. "I'm listening."

"Ten million," said Azikiwe, "for the ziggurat."

The train was more sophisticated even than the lorry, with whole carriages absolutely packed with the most advanced equipment available to the United Nations and any of its appended military forces, and also toilets, sleeping compartments and a dining car. The Doctor had been grateful for the warm bunk in his sleeping compartment and had slept for almost an hour. It had been all he had needed before waking up refreshed and ready to get started on his investigation. Naturally the lack of information didn't really help that investigation much, but he would know plenty about the ziggurat once he'd managed to get a good look at it. On the whole he didn't like the idea of going down into it at all, tomb-robbing not really being his style, but deep down he had to agree with Commander Makkinen that if they didn't open the pyramid then eventually someone would, and if there was something nasty inside then he might not be around to help that party. He splashed a little water on his face from the small basin, dressed and left his compartment, heading for the dining car. He ordered a cup of tea and a cheese and pickle sandwich and found himself a seat. Someone had left a newspaper on the table and he leafed idly through it, looking at some of the more obscure articles. It didn't bother him that the whole newspaper was written in Finnish; the TARDIS saw to little complications like that, and he was amused by some of the recent film reviews and bits of local trivia. Someone put his tea and sandwich on the table and he muttered his thanks as the man returned to his job before putting the paper down and picking up his sandwich.

"You have impeccable timing," a voice said from behind him. "It's seven minutes past noon."

"Perfect for lunch," the Doctor agreed. "But then I always did have a good sense of timing. Will you join me, Commander?"

"Kati," Commander Makkinen said as she sat down opposite him. "Please. I want us to be friends."

The Doctor smiled and raised his hand. "A cup of coffee over here, please," he called. "White, one sugar."

Makkinen gave him a puzzled look. "How did you know how I take it?"

"I make a point of knowing all about my friends," the Doctor answered coolly. "Now, tell me, Katariina Mirja Makkinen, what makes a seventeen year-old girl get some strings pulled to get onto a military fast-track course that will give her the field rank of Commander in a specialist defence force by the age of twenty-six?"

"You've been doing your research," Makkinen sighed. "How the hell did you get access to my entire file?"

"I called C19, of course," the Doctor explained simply. "You said yourself I have a lot of influence. Now come on, Kati," he grinned. "Spill the beans. You know you want to."

Makkinen looked sadly at the Doctor. "I was sixteen when my father died," she said sadly. "He was a technician for a military installation on the other side of the world, in Antarctica. It was a rocket base, sending survey teams into space. One day, the day after there had been reports of a new planet in space close to Earth we just got a letter, my mother, sisters and I, telling us that my father had died and they were very sorry. They never told us how he had died or why. We called them, wrote to them and got nothing. A week later it was in the news that the 'new planet' had been a reflection of Earth caused by a unique phenomenon of 'reflective cosmic dust' but nothing had been said about the loss of that base. The thing just vanished and the military and world governments denied all knowledge of it. It was like it had never existed."

Suddenly the Doctor realised what Makkinen was saying. "You joined UNIT so that you could uncover the cover-up and find out what happened to your father," he said.

Makkinen nodded, sipping the coffee that had been delivered while she'd been talking. "And suddenly I find that the Earth has been invaded by aliens more times that it's had World Cup football matches," she exclaimed. "In 1986 my father was working at the Snowcap Zeus rocket base when the 'reflection' appeared, and it was no reflection: it was an identical copy of Earth, well, identical except that it was upside-down. Ships crossed from that planet to Earth and a group of superhuman cyborgs broke into the Snowcap base and lay siege to it. Something went wrong in their plans and their planet somehow disintegrated. They all died, but they killed a lot of people, or got a lot of people killed while that was going on. Then UNIT arrived and covered it up, collected up all the alien tech, silenced survivors and came up with a cover story for the papers. A week later everyone's forgotten about it – I mean totally forgotten. You mention something that was on TV a week ago and they remember, but ask about the new planet and they think you're crazy. And how does the UN manage that? To make us all forget? They drug the water. They drug all the drinking water in the world with something that makes us all forget the whole week, and then they set the calendar dates back a week so we have those same dates again and don't realise we lost seven days. And now I work for the people who do that, and I actually want to help. Perkele!"

The Doctor gently patted her hand. "It's a learning curve," he said, "viewing the bigger picture from inside it. You realise that, although you didn't want your father to be swept under the carpet, humanity has to be protected from maddening information like this."

"Maybe," Makkinen said with a shrug. "Or maybe I just don't think that knowing aliens did it helps a bereaved family to recover." She was swigging her coffee now, as it had cooled a little. "Or maybe I'm just a hypocrite, the girl who changed her mind."

"I don't think that," the Doctor smiled warmly. "I think you just do what you feel is best, and that's what you've always done."

"Thank you," Makkinen said, managing a smile.

"I wonder why the drugs didn't work on you," the Doctor mused. "If they were designed to induce amnesia on a global scale, they should've affected everyone on Earth. We all drink."

"Everyone on Earth who has access to a technologically-supported clean water supply that doesn't have to be purified after dispensation, Doctor," Makkinen enlightened him. "I was always a bit of a crusader. I got involved in one of those foreign aid programmes and was in North Africa that week. Nobody there forgot the new planet, but who the hell ever listened to them?"

The Doctor nodded slowly and sipped his tea. He finished his sandwich in silence and folded the newspaper up, leaving it on the table where he had found it for the next person just as the last person had left it for him. Makkinen shared his silence as she drank her coffee, and then the two of them walked down the train to the operations room.

"Commander," a Lieutenant called as Makkinen entered the Ops car.

"What do you have for me, Kivilahti?" Makkinen asked.

Heikki Kivilahti handed Makkinen a piece of paper. "A communiqué from the drilling party, sir."

Makkinen unfolded the paper and examined it. She glanced at the Doctor. "The drilling is almost complete," she announced. "They'll break through to the ziggurat in four hours."

"And we'll be there in..?"

"Two hours, forty-seven minutes and counting, Doctor."

The Doctor marched past her and started inspecting some of the computer banks around the operations car. He took a small notebook and pencil from one of his pockets and started taking notes from the extreme-range scanners. The information displayed wasn't conclusive, but it was helping him to form a picture. Finally he reached the main radio communications bank. "May I use this?" he asked Makkinen.

"Why not," she smiled humourlessly. "You did before."

"I mean to contact the drilling team," the Doctor said.

"You want to talk to them?"

"Ask a couple of questions about the ground. It might give me some ideas."

Makkinen nodded. "Of course, Doctor. I'll call first, tell them to give you all the information you need."

The Doctor stepped aside. "Thank you."

Makkinen picked up the handset and made the call.

"Hey Cody!" Nielsen shouted over the roar of the drill. "Get over here, will ya!"

Cody Prince was seated at the monitor, watching the drill's gauges and progress reports, but he got up and let one of the other guys take his seat while he ran across the drilling platform to talk to Nielsen. "What's up, Joe?"

Nielsen shoved the radio handset into Cody's hand. "Some egghead with the investigators wants to know about the ice. You're the brains; I only know that it's thick and white and fuckin' cold."

Cody pulled up the receiver. "Cody Prince," he announced himself. "Geologist and senior drill technician."

A voice crackled through the receiver. "How d'you do, Mr Prince. I'm the Doctor."

"What's up, Doc?" Cody asked.

"Sorry," said the Doctor. "Am I speaking to Bugs Bunny?"

Cody groaned. "Wiseass. Look, I got work to do and it's at kind of a critical point, so before I get back to it, what can I do ya for?"

"What sort of drill are you using?" the Doctor asked.

"It's a customised Atlas Copco RD20," Cody told him. "Customised for speed and stability by your guys, as well as adjusted for use on the ice. These are normally used to drill for gas. It's got some pretty high-level advancements. The carriage feed system can handle 110,000 pounds of pullback, so you get a high feed speed as well as precise weight and speed control. The derrick's rigged to take out compressive loads on the upper, even at full pullback."

"That's quite impressive," the Doctor mused. "I take it you have a computer monitoring system."

"Yeah, we know what's goin' on," said Cody. "There's been almost no resistance from the ice during the whole drill programme, and we're on the final layer right now. I hear you guys are gonna be here for the breakthrough."

"That's our intention, yes."

"You better bring some champagne, Doc. Not on ice though. I think we got enough of that."

An alarm sounded from the computer console.

"What was that?" the Doctor demanded.

"Shit," snapped Cody. "We've come up against something hard on the bottom layer, way harder than the ice we've been drilling." He raised his voice. "Hey Fellows!" he hollered. "Get Gleason and Ramirez down here and get the pressure under control. Come on, move your goddamn ass! You want us all to get smeared all over the Arctic?" He returned to his call. "Sorry, Doc. I gotta get back to work. Don't worry about the emergency. We'll make that breakthrough right on time."

"Right," said the Doctor. "Thank you."

The line went dead.

Cody passed the receiver back to Nielsen. "I gotta get to the computer," he said. "Call the guys together and get everyone working on this. We gotta get the drill back under control before those assholes get here. We don't want them thinking we're making a mess of things if we plan on getting our hands on that million."

Nielsen nodded. "I got it," he said, slamming the receiver back onto its cradle in the radio set. He ran off, shouting at the others of his crew while Cody went back to the computer.

The system came online.

The pilot checked the data feed and noted the input, and then referred the details to the main computer. The computer assimilated and analysed the information it had been given and projected the most logical conclusion. Then it informed the pilot.

"Leader," the pilot said, its voice a mechanical vibration of syllables without inflection or character to draw anything away from the purity of simple truth. "Our scans have detected Mondasian technology on Earth in the northern polar region."

"What does the computer advise?" asked the Leader, its voice as hollow and free of quality as that of the pilot.

"Investigation, Leader," said the pilot.

"Attempt to establish communication with the scanner's target," the Leader ordered.

"Yes, Leader," replied the pilot. It activated the communications array and uploaded the coordinates from the scanner. The communications array fixed a bearing on the source and the pilot engaged the main transceiver. It checked for a response; there was none. "No response from the target area, Leader," it announced. "Transceiver systems register no operational modules. If communications technology has survived, it has not yet been activated."

"Lock coordinates on the scanner's target and prepare to breach orbit," the Leader instructed its subordinate. "We will investigate the anomaly on the surface."

"There may also be processing opportunities, Leader," reported the pilot. "If the location is populated with human specimens."

"That," said the Cyber Leader, "has already been considered."

_To be continued..._


	2. Episode 2

**Episode II**

Kevin Farrant was miserable.

He squatted on his mat next to a cup of coffee that he'd already allowed to go tepid and was contemplating allowing to go cold, his chin resting in his hands and his hood off, but a woolly hat pulled down protectively over his ears. It wasn't just frostbite he was worried about getting to them; he really didn't want to hear this. "You bunch of mutinous bastards," he exclaimed bitterly. "What have I ever done to you lot, eh? I got us this gig, persuaded the United Nations and the Finnish military to let us have first crack at it, and now you want to run me out and one of you lot take over? Y'am a set of bastards, the lot of you."

"It isn't like that," Chris Styles said calmly, struggling to dress the wound in Kevin's pride. "You know it's not. We've all agreed with you from the beginning, that blowing everything up is more about pyrotechnical macho willy-waving than archaeology and history, but this is a weird situation, and even though you got us first crack at it we're still in the pockets of the UN and the Finns, because this is their call and not ours."

"You treat me like I've got no right to protest, Chris," Kevin moaned.

Chris was about ready to lose his temper, and he'd done a really good job of keeping it so far. He took a deep breath and tried one more time. "No one said you didn't have the right to protest, Kev. But we're between a rock and a hard place, and you know that as well as any of us. Obsessing about history isn't going to get this job done. All right, it's why we came here, to find out about the civilisation that built the ziggurat, but I've just got the feeling that this business is bigger and nastier than we should really be having anything to do with."

"So you think we should just pull out?" Kevin inferred. "Forget the dosh and go home?"

"No, course not mate," Chris sighed with a shake of his head. "I'm saying we should just for once ignore the fact that we're archaeologists, help these army people find out as much as they can about the pyramid, collect our money and then go home."

"But we are archaeologists," Kevin reminded him. "If we weren't, we wouldn't be here."

Chris crouched beside Kevin. "Look, this whole situation is upsetting you to the point that your depression could put you at risk, and if a member of the team is at risk, then the whole team is at risk. We just want you to stand down until you feel better."

"And you think sitting here on my arse while you lot go off and learn about the oldest building that's ever been built anywhere in the world is going to make me better, do you?" Kevin demanded.

"You can still have your share of the money," Chris reassured him, hoping that it would help.

It didn't. "Ah, stuff your money," Kevin snapped, getting up and marching off across the snow. "Go on, draw straws to decide who takes over from me, and I'll just go and sit somewhere out of the way like the good little dog I am, and bollocks to the lot of you!"

Chris didn't bother to follow him. He knew it would do no good. Better to let him cool off (if that were the correct term in such a cold place) and the chances were that by the time he'd made it back to camp the rest of the team would be at the drill site. The others, who had been sitting in silence, cooperating with Chris's request that they stay out of it unless he asked them to back him up, were starting to chat amongst themselves about events. After a while, Hannah got off her mat and sat down on the one recently vacated by Kevin, next to Chris. "The rest of the team have suggested that you take over as team leader," she told him.

"Oh Jesus," Chris groaned. "That makes me feel even worse. How's that going to look? When Kevin gets back and finds out I'm team leader he'll think I staged a coup just to oust him so that I could take all the glory. I'm not going to be leader."

Hannah frowned. "Well someone's got to be."

"You do it then," snapped Chris. "I don't even know why I'm still doing any of this. I don't even know why I'm still at the North bloody Pole when I could be at home having steak and chips for dinner and watching London's Burning on the telly, with a view to getting the wife's knickers off later on in the evening."

"You think I should be leader?" asked Hannah.

"I don't care who does it," Chris grunted. "As long as it's not me."

Hannah stood up. "What about the rest of you?" she asked. "Any nominations?"

Everyone shook their heads.

"Right then," Hannah nodded. "I suppose it'll have to be me." She walked back over to the heating unit, checking her watch as she moved. "Right, the breakthrough is expected in less than two hours and we've got to be ready to get down to the ziggurat," she announced. "Has everybody got their rations and equipment packs?"

Everyone murmured their confirmation.

Chris stood up and joined her. "I'm sorry, Hannah," he sighed. "I was harsh. Shall we do this together?"

"Joint leader?" Hannah smiled. "Suits me."

Chris smiled back. "Right everyone, pack up your tents and have your last refreshments within the next hour, and then we'll dismantle the heating unit before we move to the drill site. I want everyone ready to go by..."

"Twenty-one forty," said Hannah. "Any questions?"

Bex stood up. "Yeah," she breathed, pointing out along the crest of the ridge. "Who the bloody hell's that?"

Chris and Hannah looked up in the direction indicated by their teammate. Five black men in white coveralls were climbing over the ridge and heading down to the team. They were carrying rifles.

"It's just the investigators," said Hannah. "They must've arrived early."

"Then how come they didn't radio?" asked Bex. "They're supposed to keep in contact with us and the drillers. Besides, they're not carrying any packs or ropes. They're just trying to slide down the ravine like we do. Wouldn't soldiers be a bit better equipped?"

Chris sighed. "Bex, you're just being paranoid."

Bex didn't answer. She just crashed into the snow with a bullet hole in the centre of her forehead.

"Everybody down!" Hannah shouted, diving into the snow. The others did likewise as bullets flew over their heads. She glanced at Chris. "Why the hell are we under attack?" she demanded.

"Dunno," Chris said breathlessly. "Maybe it's the guys who took that geological team we were supposed to be searching for."

"Took?" Hannah repeated the word with some surprise. "You mean killed, I take it."

Chris shrugged. "Probably I do," he said. "Yeah."

The trek across the ice had taken quite some time and the snow was starting to fall. It was hardly a blizzard, but it was enough to get in the way. At least this was the last leg of the journey, the Doctor thought. The train had met another lorry and that had taken the UNIT group out of Rovaniemi, but there was only so far out onto the ice that powered vehicles could go before it became dangerous to have them, and large toboggans with teams of huskies had replaced the truck. They'd gone as far as their drivers would permit before turning back, and the rest of the journey had become a bracing evening walk, or rather trudge. The Doctor was still wondering what it was that the drill had come up against when he was talking to Cody, just before their conversation was cut short. He wondered perhaps if any more of the black ice had been found. That would certainly account for the sudden obstacle in the drilling, the black ice being different from the usual white, and possibly a little harder in its tensile strength.

Makkinen broke his train of thought. "We should be there soon," she announced, checking the small flip-up computer pad mounted on her wrist. It displayed a map with different coloured holograms labelling various locations. "If these coordinates are okay," she continued, "then the archaeologists' camp should be just over..."

Gunfire rang out.

"There!" the Doctor shouted and started running in the direction in which he'd just pointed. The UNIT troopers broke into a collective run and headed after him. As he neared the ridge he could hear shouting and more gunfire. Some of the people shouting sounded English, and the others... were they African? Nigerian, maybe? The Doctor was starting to worry. The language sounded extremely confrontational and the gunfire wasn't helping. He made it to the ridge and pressed himself against the ice, looking carefully over the rim, doing his best not to be seen.

In the dip below, amidst a cluster of small tents surrounding a large mobile heating unit, a small group of men and women knelt in the snow with their hands behind their heads, five other men on their feet pointing rifles at them. One of the hostages, the one carrying a large radio set on his chest, was arguing with one of the gunmen. He was trying to persuade the thugs to release their innocent victims. The gunman eventually lost his temper and shot the man. The Doctor was sure he heard a woman scream the word 'jukebox' as he crumpled. Probably a nickname.

In reaction to Jukebox's death, the UNIT troops gathered close to the Doctor on the ridge opened fire, cutting down the man who had fired that shot. The other four terrorists – or whoever they were – spread out and took cover wherever they could. The hostages started to scramble to their feet.

"Stay where you are, all of you!" the Doctor shouted. "Those of you who were taken hostage, if you try to run your captors may shoot you. Please keep perfectly still and we'll get you out of there as quickly as we can."

"Who are you?" called one of the men huddled near the heater. "Are you with the investigators?"

"I'm the Doctor," the Doctor called back to him. "And yes, I'm here with the army, Mr..."

"Styles. Chris Styles. Why didn't you radio to announce you'd arrived?"

"The drilling's encountered a problem and there's had to be radio silence in case our transceiver equipment is interfering with the drill's computerised remote controls. We were going to use short-wave radios when we got to the ravine, but we're past that stage now."

Another voice interrupted, one of the Africans. The Doctor looked into the dip but couldn't see him, and that meant none of the soldiers could see him either. "I have a clear target on the man who calls himself Styles," the African announced. "Put down your weapons and climb down into the crater unarmed. If you don't I will kill him."

"Who are you?" the Doctor demanded. "Who do you work for?"

"Not that it will mean a thing to you," said the African, "but my name is Azikiwe, and I work for whoever pays highest. Now put down all your guns and come into the dip if you want this man to live. I give you ten minutes."

Makkinen appeared at the Doctor's side. "I'm not negotiating with terrorists," she snapped, glancing over her shoulder. "You," she whispered to one of her men. "Move around the ridge, keep low but see if you can spot any of these guys. If you do, shoot on sight."

"Sir," nodded the trooper and he scurried off.

The Doctor grimaced. "They're not terrorists, Kati," he said. "They're mercenaries."

Makkinen screwed up her forehead. "What are a bunch of mercenaries doing here?" she snapped frustratedly. "What the hell do they want?"

"Obviously the same as us," said the Doctor. "They want the ziggurat."

"Well they can kiss my tight, toned behind," Makkinen snapped. "Our team was here first."

A shot rang out and several of the UNIT soldiers levelled their rifles, aiming them into the dip and watching for movement. One of the Africans ran out from behind a tent, waving his gun. A second later he collapsed with a hole through his skull into the ice, dyeing it red where he fell. "Hold your fire," the Doctor said urgently. "I won't have any more bloodshed."

"If we give ground now, you won't be able to prevent it," said Makkinen. "They'll kill those poor bastards down there. So somebody has to die, Doctor. Who's it going to be?"

The Doctor turned his back. He had to tolerate it, but he didn't have to see it.

Two of the Africans emerged with their hands behind their heads in surrender. One of the soldiers levelled his gun. "Hold your fire," Makkinen ordered. "Let them surrender. We're not murderers."

"That, at least, we can be thankful for," said the Doctor, turning back to look again at what was going on. The UNIT trooper who had gone around the edge of the crater and shot one of the mercenaries was now cautiously abseiling into the dip. Others nearer the Doctor were setting up grappling hooks, wires and harnesses and following. The Doctor watched the UNIT people secure the dip and carefully move the archaeologists back up the ridge, taking them out to safety before a last couple of soldiers finally harnessed up the remaining two mercenaries and started to take them up top. When the hostages reached the edge they were pulled over, swathed in blankets and given hot drinks from the soldiers' insulated flasks. As one of the mercenaries was hauled over the ridge, he made a show of tripping up, and when the soldier stooped to haul him to his feet, he had unclipped his harness and he whipped the line around the soldier's ankles, causing him to trip and fall in the ice. The snowfall was getting thicker now and the mercenary took advantage, vanishing behind the white curtain.

"Get after him, you idiot!" Makkinen shouted at the soldier that the bounty hunter had fooled and the trooper, without answering, turned and ran in the direction that his quarry had taken, disappearing completely in the blink of an eye. Makkinen huffed loudly. "Get the other one over here," she snapped. The trooper holding the last mercenary at gunpoint frogmarched him forward to face the Commander. "Who are you working for?" she barked at him. "What were you sent here to do?"

The African spat in her face. Makkinen retaliated with a solid kick to the groin, causing the man to fall to his knees, clutching at his nether regions and groaning in pain. She pulled back the hood of his coverall suit. "Ice," she demanded. One of her troopers started to scoop up clusters of ice and snow for her.

The Doctor took out his handkerchief and wiped Makkinen's cheek. "Do you really think torturing him is the answer?"

Makkinen shrugged. "I think it's a start." She took a handful of snow from her subordinate and smiled viciously at the mercenary. "Now, tell me a little about yourself," she said sweetly, as if she were a pleasant office administrator conducting a job interview. "Maybe you can start with your name, who you're working for, what the job is and how much you're being paid."

"Go and sit on an aubergine," the mercenary answered through gritted teeth.

"I like that one," Makkinen said. "I must remember it." She emptied the handful of snow into the hood of his coveralls, packed it down and took the next scooping, adding that in too. "Hold him," she said, and two of her troopers took an arm each, holding him firm on his knees. "Are you sure you don't want to tell me a few things?" she asked, giving him a last chance.

"Piss on you," the mercenary hissed.

Makkinen sighed. "I was so hoping we could do this the easy way." Then she smiled. "Ah, who am I kidding?"

She pulled up his hood and pulled the cord tight. Drill or no, the riggers half a kilometre away could probably hear his screams.

New data streamed from the main computer. Long-range scanner sweeps concluded and the results were delivered instantly to the ship's crew. The pilot checked the data, logged it and prepared its report for the Leader. Then it changed some of the scan settings, the frequency and coordinates, and initiated the running of the second scan. There was fresh information that would be absolutely vital to the new mission, and this had to be reported at once. "Leader," the pilot buzzed. "Our surface scans detect the presence of organic life forms within range of the coordinates, moving closer to the target area."

"Have the life forms been analysed?" the Cyber Leader asked.

"They are human, Leader," reported the pilot. "The computer has also analysed their technology. They have a surface penetration device and are drilling in the direction of the target artefact."

The Cyber Leader considered for a moment. This information changed matters somewhat. Humans of some basic technology had started drilling down to buried Mondasian technology, technology that its hereditary proprietors wanted back. It cut down the amount of available time considerably. The Leader reached a decision. Measures would have to be taken. "Prepare the emergency capsule," it ordered. "Contact the ancillary fleet and advise them of the situation. Instruct them to move in immediately."

"Yes, Leader," buzzed the pilot. "Also we are now within sufficient range to attempt a subspace power transfer from this ship to the artefact."

"What is the probability of a successful transfer?"

"Eighty-six point eight seven per cent, Leader."

"Establish a subspace link with the artefact and transfer power to its security systems," the Cyber Leader instructed. "If the artefact is self-defensible it may afford us time to reach Earth and acquire it with little or no resistance."

"Yes, Leader," the pilot confirmed. It returned to its work without another word, programming the new details into the computer and preparing to make the call to the ancillary fleet. The Cyber Leader in the meantime left the command deck and proceeded to the Emergency Capsule Launch Unit, collecting three of its comrades along the way.

A knock came at the parlour door.

"Enter," Lomax called, putting her book down again.

The door opened and Forrester walked in. "Good evening, Madam," he said courteously. "I'm afraid we have some bad news. We've received a telephone call from our man at the Pole. Mr Azikiwe has been captured and three of his men killed. The fourth is missing somewhere in the Arctic wasteland, I understand."

Lomax exhibited a most unladylike smirk. "That was to be expected," she said coolly.

"Madam?" asked Forrester, surprised to discover that this was one of Lomax's masterplans and she'd been exploiting Mr Azikiwe all along.

"The UNIT people aren't murderers," Lomax explained casually. "Occasionally assassins, but certainly not the kind of people who just execute their prisoners without so much as a trial, whatever the local laws might allow. Our UNIT contact isn't much help in himself, because there's only so much he can safely get away with without arousing suspicion. Azikiwe, on the other hand, is already the object of suspicion because of his recent condign behaviour, and therefore the UNIT people will be keeping an eye on him."

Forrester was trying to think the strategy out for himself. "I think I see, Madam," he nodded. "The UNIT people won't be able to spare anyone to stay on the surface and guard this man, especially with his comrade missing and at large to potentially rescue him, and so they'll have no choice but to take him down into the ziggurat with them."

"Exactly," Lomax smiled wickedly. "And with the concealed recording equipment he can keep us in the picture without anyone realising what he's up to. Schedule my helicopter for takeoff in one hour."

Forrester smiled and nodded. "Very good, Madam." And he turned to leave.

"And Forrester," Lomax called softly, stopping him. "Pack a suitcase."

"Yes, Madam," Forrester grinned. "Immediately."

The door closed behind Forrester and Lomax crossed to the sideboard. She poured herself a drink from the decanter and swallowed it in one go. She turned to the wood-panelled section of wall that ran the length of the room at the back and carefully reached between the cleavage of her ample breasts, taking out a tiny key. Finding the concealed keyhole, she clicked the key in the lock and pushed at the panels. They folded in a zigzag like dressmakers' screens, revealing a black jumpsuit, a rucksack and a utility belt in brackets, surrounded by an impressive array of guns, grenades and explosive and detonator packs. She reached for her back and unfastened the clasps of her long dress. The dress fell to the floor. Taking the rucksack from its bracket, Lomax opened it and took out a small roll of white cotton, carefully unravelling it. Her fashionable feminine underwear was pretty, but it would only get in the way in a combat situation. A quick change from her purple satin set, suspender belt and black stockings to a plain white vest and shorts made her feel more ready for the right kind of action. Sports socks replaced her stockings, the figure-hugging jumpsuit replaced her dress and tough boots replaced her stilettos. She loaded up the rucksack with grenades, bombs, a couple of spare guns and plenty of ammunition magazines, hooked a couple more guns on her belt and tied her reddish brown hair up and put a clip in to hold it. Satisfied that she was ready to go, Lomax returned to the table beside her chair and pressed one of the buttons on the intercom panel. They weren't all for the communications system. She heard the other wooden wall panel roll back slowly and she turned rapidly, snatching a pistol from her holster as she moved. When she stopped, she fired a single round, exploding the dummy's head magnificently. "Still got it," she smiled to herself.

"Well, I've seen some spectacles in my time," the Doctor said slowly. "But that would take quite some beating, even by my standards." He continued to admire his new surroundings as he was lowered down on the safety line into the open end of the borehole. On the way down through the circular tunnel created by the drill there had been no sign of black ice, and so the reason why the drill had fouled up near the end was still a mystery, and one that needed investigating now it was clear that there was no geological reason for it. He was thankful that Makkinen had agreed to his proposal of being the first to make the descent, but Kati was a reasonable woman and she wasn't incapable of listening to a sensible argument. She'd accepted that the Doctor had more experience of unusual phenomena than she or anyone on her team had and therefore he'd be more likely to be able to handle the situation if anything cropped up. However, she still had one area of her mind that was locked in insular military mode, and therefore there was a rifle strapped to the Doctor's back and a handgun in his pocket, neither of which he had any intention of using. He continued to report into the radio set they'd managed to strap to his chest. "I'm in a cavern constructed entirely of ice, and I do mean constructed. The curvature of the ceiling forms a perfect dome. There are the usual icicles, but they've formed long after this section of ice was hollowed out."

Makkinen's voice buzzed through the radio. "Can you see the ziggurat, Doctor?"

"At the centre of the nave there is a massive pillar of ice, like a frozen waterfall," the Doctor continued. "It's beautiful. It looks like an enormous tree trunk carved out of ice and it's lighting the entire area. It's quite bright in here and I don't need my torch to see. The column must lead right up to the surface and refract the light of the sun and moon as they pass by the Pole. It's gloomy enough to indicate that the only current light source for it to refract is the aurora borealis, but you'll be able to see clearly enough when you get down here."

"The ziggurat, Doctor," Makkinen insisted.

"It's magnificent," the Doctor announced. "Seated directly in front of that column on top of a raised circular platform of ice, like a giant frozen dining table. It's black and has five storeys, and I'd say it was formed completely of black ice."

"Black ice?" Makkinen repeated. "Like the specimen the geologists found?"

"Probably," the Doctor confirmed. "I'm going to try something. Hang on a minute." He pulled the handgun from his pocket and aimed it at the apex of the ziggurat. The bullet ricocheted off the gleaming black surface with a resonant ping. "Not so much as a scratch," the Doctor announced to Makkinen. "And if that were any ordinary ice I'd have at least made a small hole, if not blown a chunk out of the wall."

Makkinen audibly gasped. "That's incredible." She quickly composed herself. "Is there any way to reach the ziggurat from the floor, Doctor? You said it was on a dais of some kind."

"There are metal steps," the Doctor nodded.

"Metal?" Makkinen exclaimed. "Are you certain?"

"One hundred per cent," the Doctor confirmed. "And it's a manufactured polymer too. Not just iron or any other natural substance. But I wouldn't be too surprised. This ziggurat is definitely evidence of advanced technology. The sheer mathematics of its construction would be enough to take up an entire rainforest's worth of exercise books."

"Who the hell made this thing, Doctor?"

"It's still too early to be certain, Kati."

"I'm coming down."

"All right. I'm nearly on the floor anyway. I'll make for the steps." The Doctor swung a little in the direction of the steps, took a deep breath and disconnected the safety line from his harness. He let go of the line and landed in a soft pile of snow about two hundred feet from the steps. The blue light of the cavern cast eerie shadows over the virgin snow of the floor. The Doctor heard a scrape from above, the sound of the safety line being taken up to be attached to Kati. She'd be down in ten minutes, then. The Doctor looked at the metal steps. They were millions of years old, tens of millions of years old, but they looked as sturdy and solid as they must have done when they were newly erected. They even gleamed, showing no signs of the rust or fatigue that any Earthly metal should have suffered in such a damp place. Cautiously the Doctor placed his foot on the first step and stamped down hard. The clang echoed around the cavern, but nothing else happened. He risked hopping up onto the step, and the staircase did not shake. It didn't even quiver or creak under the first weight that had been applied to it in millennia. Shrugging, the Doctor looked ahead. About two hundred steps, he estimated, and he started to climb.

Kevin was lost.

It had been a good hour since he'd decided that he'd overreacted and been awkward and unreasonable and made up his mind that he would go back and apologise to Chris and the others, offer to stand down as team leader on the condition that he could still at least participate under the guidance of whoever took over. But by now the snowfall had thickened and he'd walked quite a distance in the snow and couldn't see. It was so cold and he could feel the soreness around his eyes, and he was starting to feel scared. What if the snow didn't stop for hours? He might die of malnutrition and hypothermia and be buried here, and his body might never be found. Anything could happen out here. Whatever happened to those geologists could happen to him. It was upsetting him and slowly mixing in with his other upsets, threatening to turn slowly into all-consuming madness.

Someone ran past. It was all a sudden blur and Kevin couldn't be sure, but it looked like a black bloke in a snowsuit. There was no one black on the team. Maybe this was one of the investigators, asked to look for Kevin in the snow. "Oi, mate!" he called. "Oi, I'm over here! Oi!"

The black bloke vanished as quickly as he'd appeared, but then suddenly another man appeared, colliding with Kevin and collapsing with him into the snow. The pair flailed wildly and eventually Kevin found himself on his back, a fist whooshing down to his face. He blacked out.

When he came round he could smell strong coffee and someone helped him to sit up. He was dazed and confused, uncertain as to why he'd been jumped, who had done it and what the hell in general was going on.

"I'm sorry about that," a voice said. He sounded Scandinavian. Probably one of those soldiers off the investigation team from Finland. "I thought you were somebody else. Here." He offered a tin mug off steaming coffee.

Kevin took it gratefully. "The black bloke," Kevin said. "That's who you were after. He ran right past me and then you turned up and thought it was me. Snow blind. Anybody could've messed that one up mate." He sipped at the coffee.

"I'm Marko Aaltonen," the soldier said. "I'm on the investigation team. Are you one of the archaeologists?"

"Kevin Farrant," said Kevin. "Yeah. I was team leader."

"You were? You're not now?"

"There was a sort of mutiny. They all decided I was too screwed up in the head to be in charge of the dig."

"Unlucky, my friend," Marko sighed.

"You make a good cup of coffee there, mate," Kevin smiled. "Do you know the way back to our camp?"

"I have tracking equipment," Marko nodded. "We can start moving as soon as you've finished that if you want. We'll be passing the camp, though, heading straight for the drill site. The borehole's ready to go and our guys will be moving down there right now."

"I'm sorry I missed that," Kevin said with a half-smile. "It'll be great to see the ziggurat though."

Marko drank his own coffee. "Should be pretty interesting, yeah."

Kevin glanced warily over his shoulder and then looked back at Marko. "Did you hear something, Marko?" he asked quietly.

"Apart from the wind and you," Marko shrugged. "I don't think so. Did you?"

"I'm sure I heard something crunch the snow," said Kevin. "Like treading in it or something. I dunno. Maybe it's that black fella come back."

Marko got to his feet and pulled the rifle from over his shoulder. "I'll go check it out."

"Not on your own, you don't," Kevin spluttered, putting down his cup and scrambling to a standing position. "If anything happens to you and I can't find your body and get your tracking gear I'll be right back where I started before you turned up."

Marko laughed. "Your concern is touching, my friend. Come on."

The two of them crept in the direction from which Kevin had been sure he had heard the crunching sound. It wasn't long before the sound came again, and this time they both heard it. Carefully they closed in on the source. It sounded again, and then again. It was repeating quite frequently, sounding less and less like a footstep each time. Marko spotted a tall, dark shape looming out of the snowstorm. "Freeze!" he shouted, and then checked himself. "I mean, stand still. I am armed and combat-trained. If you move, I'll be forced to open fire."

The shape kept perfectly still. Kevin and Marko advanced and after a few minutes found themselves facing a pillar of ice. It was about eight feet tall and three feet in diameter, a perfect cylinder, smooth and misted and glistening. Kevin stared at it for a moment and then crouched down, carefully running his fingers around the pillar's base. "There's a gap here," he said in amazement as he probed. "This thing's risen up out of the ground."

"I can see that," said Marko, pointing to the top of the cylinder. It was piled high with snow from the ground that it had forced up. "And that explains the sounds we heard."

"But what the bloody hell explains a pillar of ice rising up out the ground?" Kevin asked, flabbergasted. "What's it even for?"

With an ear-splitting snap, a massive crack shot down the centre of the pillar.

"I think we're about to find out," Marko breathed, backing away. "Get away from it, Kevin!"

Kevin darted away to join his friend as three more cracks appeared. "There's something in it," he gasped, shaking.

The pillar shattered.

"Vitun helve," Marko whispered. "What in the name of Almighty God is that?"

The thing was enormous, a massive bulk with arms and legs almost like a man, but only almost. Instead of a face it had some kind of cloth mask like an old World War One gasmask, except with a sort of silver-lipped mouth instead of a filter nozzle. There was a kind of lamp on top of its head held in place with pipes that terminated around the ear area of the head. There were metal plates on its shoulders and gleaming clamps on its elbow, wrist, knee and ankle joints. The entire body from its neck to the metallic boots it was wearing was covered with some sort of plastic suit, except for the hands, which were recognisably human, and it carried on its chest some sort of huge mechanical apparatus. For a moment it seemed disorientated, as if snow blind, but suddenly it seemed to register the two men and started to approach them.

"I don't care a kipper's dick what it is, Marko," Kevin stammered. "Shoot it!"

Marko shot it. He shot it about eight times.

It just kept coming.

Everyone gathered outside the ziggurat. It was certainly an impressive piece of architecture, gigantic and black, its apex towering a good five hundred feet above where they stood in front of a broad, dark square depression that indicated a doorway but showed no indication of yielding one. Everyone was chattering excitedly about the discovery, UNIT troops mucking in with the archaeologists and the drill riggers. A guard held the handcuffed Chimela Azikiwe in check, the mercenary hanging his head so as not to show the face now disfigured by severe frostbite. He'd told Makkinen his name and lied about his employer, knowing that even now Miss Lomax would be on her way with a crack team of ex-special service mercs and would rescue him in return for the information he'd gathered. He'd admitted that his intention was to lay claim to the ziggurat for her and just shrugged off Makkinen's mocking about achieving that with just five men. He'd managed to keep secret the fact that his five were just the scouting party sent to secure the archaeologists' camp and get the files containing information about the dig for Lomax and her squad. He'd also managed to keep quiet about the pinhole camera and microphone system in the collar buttons of his snowsuit and the fact that he was still gathering information for Lomax by way of them.

The Doctor was inside the central alcove, examining the opaque featureless black space where there should really have been a door. He was banging on it with a toffee hammer, moving the hammer from place to place and muttering to himself. Makkinen joined him. "Are you getting anywhere?" she asked impatiently.

"Possibly," the Doctor murmured. He banged again. "Ah!" he exclaimed and shoved the hammer back into his pocket, producing from the same place his sonic screwdriver. "I'd stand back if I were you," he warned Makkinen. "This could be dangerous."

"What about you?" asked Makkinen.

The Doctor grimaced. "My arms are only this long. I can't get any further away." He froze for a second, raising an eyebrow. "Déjà vu," he muttered, and pressed the head of the sonic screwdriver to the wall in front of him and activated it. The entire wall section slowly receded into the floor, revealing an entrance. "Voila!" the Doctor exclaimed. "Everybody down!"

Everyone hastily dived to the floor as a swirling cloud of energy rippled out from the entrance, crackling violently as it expanded. One of the riggers wasn't quick enough, and the pinkish cloud touched him. He disintegrated to a skeleton, which became a cloud of ash as it crashed onto the ice platform. Having done its work, the cloud drifted on into the cavern, expanding and thinning until it finally dispersed.

Makkinen scrambled to her feet. "Typical of a pyramid to be booby-trapped," she grunted. "It's like I'm in one of those goddamn Indiana Jones movies." She glowered at the Doctor. "Any more surprises?"

"Oh, I've no idea," said the Doctor. "Shall we see?" And he marched through the entrance.

Makkinen beckoned to the others, who were still getting to their feet, as she followed him. The riggers and soldiers filed in behind her and the archaeologists slipped through last. The entrance led straight into a large hall with a vaulted ceiling. The interior, unlike the exterior, wasn't made of black ice. Instead the walls were metal and the floor was stone. The room was square and in each corner there was a small recess that held a dark rectangular doorway. In the centre of the room there was a large circular mosaic, around the circumference of which were arranged twelve stone sarcophagi set at the clock points. Makkinen moved over to one of the sarcophagi, the one at the seven o'clock position, and examined it. It had a stone lid covering it. "I wonder what's in these," she pondered.

"Hey," Nielsen said, looking down at the mosaic. "Look at this. It's a mosaic of the Earth."

Makkinen stepped onto the mosaic herself and looked at it. The land masses were certainly familiar, but she spotted instantly what was wrong with it. "If that's the Earth," she said darkly, "why are the compass points inverted?"

Nielsen looked down. "We're probably just looking at it the wrong way up."

Makkinen shook her head, producing a compass from her belt and checking it. "No," she said, showing the compass to Nielsen. "The needle points north. North is that way." She pointed northwards and then pointed to the mosaic. "And that, in alignment with the north, is the Southern Hemisphere."

The Doctor overheard. "What?" he snapped, darting to the mosaic.

Nielsen laughed. "Maybe the artist had a little much to drink, did the picture upside-down."

"We've got to get out of here," the Doctor said urgently.

"What's the matter?" asked Makkinen.

The Doctor pointed at the mosaic. "That's not Earth. It's Mondas."

Makkinen felt her blood run cold. "I've heard that word before," she said in a chilly tone. "It came up in my research into the circumstances surrounding my father's death."

The Doctor nodded. "And I should have realised what this ziggurat was all along," he replied, seeming deep in despair. "I'm so sorry Kati."

A rumbling sound echoed around the chamber.

"Everybody out!" Makkinen screamed.

People ran to the door. It wasn't there anymore.

The Doctor darted over to the place where the door had been and produced his sonic screwdriver, pressing it to the wall.

"What about the booby trap?" a woman from the archaeological team asked. "That killer cloud? Will it fire if the door's opened from the inside?"

"I don't know," the Doctor groaned. "But I can't take the risk. I'll have to find the source and shut it down before I open the door." He darted frantically across the room to the far wall, drawing his toffee hammer.

Makkinen interrupted him. "Doctor," she said in a worried tone. "The sarcophagi are opening."

The Doctor whirled round. "Get away from them!" he shouted. "Everyone stand clear!"

"But this is what we came here to see," said Chris Styles, rushing to the side of one of the large stone objects. "Hannah, look!"

The woman who had just advised the Doctor about the booby trap ran to the side of another sarcophagus as the stone lid rolled back to reveal its contents. She looked up at Chris. "What are they?"

"Get away from them!" the Doctor growled.

It was too late. From both sarcophagi there sprang an array of metal spines with sharp ends and knuckle joints like spiders' legs or spindly mechanical fingers. They wrapped around the bodies of Chris and Hannah and whipped them quickly into the sarcophagi. Soldiers rushed to their aid, but they weren't quick enough. The lids ground to a close and the two full coffins sank into the floor, metal shutters closing over the apertures into which they vanished.

Makkinen looked to the Doctor. "What just happened to them? Another booby trap?"

"Worse," said the Doctor. "They've been taken for processing."

"Processing?" said Nielsen. "What the hell kind of processing?"

"The worst kind of processing you can possibly imagine," said the Doctor, "isn't nearly as bad as what's going to happen to those two. Now stay away from those things."

The remaining ten sarcophagi were still open, lying in wait for someone to come close enough to activate them. People started to congregate by the walls.

Another rumbling sound filled the room. A couple of people fell over.

"The walls are moving!" Cody Prince shouted. "They're closing in!"

The Doctor stared at the walls in horror. They were definitely moving. They were pushing the people in the room closer to the centre, closer to the yawning sarcophagi. "Two down," he whispered. "Ten to go."

_To be continued..._


	3. Episode 3

**Episode III**

The sleek torpedo shape of the Cybermen's spaceship completed its final orbit. Its vector-thrusters switched from geostationary lock to descent pattern and prepared to fire. Time would still be required to make a proper landing on the ice and the emergency capsule would still have to be used. The Cyber Leader was locked into the capsule and prepared for the short journey, along with three other Cybermen and an equipment and armaments chest. The Leader waited in silence, neither patient nor impatient although it remained constantly aware of the time and consistently calculated and recalculated the odds of success in the time provided with each second that passed. It had designated a strategist to take command of the main ship and ordered it to report to the command deck immediately. It knew that the new commander would already be there, executing its duties at full capacity. Not a single doubt crept into its mind; Cybermen were efficient and reliable. The power feed gauge suddenly came to life, its display panel lighting up, and the Cyber Leader registered the activation and attended to the panel, relegating its statistical calculations to secondary priority. It observed the gauge registering the rise in power, and when it registered full, the Leader activated the booster.

"Commander," the pilot on the command deck reported. "We are prepared to breach geostationary orbit."

"Is the emergency capsule prepared?" the Commander enquired.

"Yes, Commander," the pilot informed it. "Global scans indicate a number of radio transmissions surrounding the planet in excess of billions," it continued. "Further analysis indicates that some of these transmissions are sourced from sensory devices."

The Commander registered the information and categorised it as relevant. "What is their function?"

"Potentially to locate disturbances and identify their cause," explained the pilot.

"What is the probability that we may be detected?" asked the Commander.

The pilot checked the computer and made some calculations. "At our present position the risk is negligible, but as soon as our craft breaches orbit and enters the planet's atmosphere we will be detected. It is certain."

The Commander identified the problem and prepared a strategy. "Activate the sensor-wave deflector shielding," it instructed. "Calibrate its function to analyse the transmissions from the surface and redirect them. Ensure that the same calibrations are applied to the emergency capsule before its launch."

"Commander," the pilot nodded. It punched a series of instructions into the computer and waited for precisely four point two nine seconds. "Calibration is complete," it announced. "We are now invisible to all sensors on the surface. The emergency capsule is also shrouded."

"Launch the emergency capsule," ordered the Commander.

The pilot ran the brief diagnostic check to confirm that the emergency capsule was ready to be launched, cleared the launch protocols, entered the locking release codes and fired the launcher. Had there been any spectators nearby they might have concluded that the huge black tube in space was firing a devastating missile at the surface of the Earth. In a sense, they'd have concluded correctly.

The room was much smaller now, and the walls were closing in rapidly. The recesses leading to the internal doors were still present, but as the walls closed in those recesses deepened, becoming long narrow corridors, dark almost to the point of opacity, and even running down them was not an escape, as the doors at the ends were sealed with the same stone slabs that were used as the lids of the sarcophagi in the entrance hall, and if anyone went near them the chances were that they would open and spew out those metal pincers, dragging off another victim for the 'processing' that the Doctor had mentioned. Nielsen was trying to keep everybody back, encouraging people to huddle in the long corridors in the vain hope that when the walls finally stopped, which at some point was inevitable, they'd just be stuck in there. Naturally that didn't help, as they'd soon run out of food and water and die anyway, but it had to be better than giving themselves up to the sarcophagi and their fiendish grabbers. Soldiers, riggers and archaeologists huddled in the corridors together, desperate for any hope but seeing none.

The Doctor was standing on a stone skirting that projected from the back wall, his face pressed to the metal plate, listening to it, and his sonic screwdriver in a white-knuckled hand. Occasionally he pressed the screwdriver to the wall and activated it for a few seconds, listening carefully to its sound. Makkinen had climbed up onto the skirting with him, and the two of them were being carried on the moving wall toward the waiting traps. They were only about ten feet from the nearest one now, and the metal grabs were starting to unfold. Makkinen was getting worried. "Is this going to take much longer, Doctor?" she asked urgently.

"I've no idea," the Doctor replied honestly, squeezing his screwdriver again. "I'll manage it as quickly as I can. Try to remember that I'm as keen on the idea of falling into one of those things as you are."

"What did you mean earlier?" she asked him. "About the processing?"

"I thought you'd read the file on the Cybermen, Kati," the Doctor replied with another squeeze of his sonic screwdriver. Its pitch changed and it gave a vibrato trilling sound. "Ah!" the Doctor exclaimed and made a slight adjustment.

Makkinen clung onto the wall for dear life, glancing over her shoulder at the grabs. They were twitching and flexing like the legs of a huge insect lying on its back, dying and unable to right itself and get up. The thought made her flesh creep. "I'm only a commander, Doctor," she went on, trying to distract herself from the thought of the awful fate that awaited her a few feet away. "There's only so much I'm allowed to see. Most of what I got I accessed illegally, and there's very little of that. There's only one incident on file that records an actual occasion when a UNIT battalion directly engaged the Cybermen, and even then there's a limit to what's actually known about them, because most of the experience was direct contact, and the only intelligence gathered was on a dummy corporation set up as a front to assist the Cybermen in some kind of invasion programme."

The Doctor nodded. "Yes, I know about International Electromatix and the Vaughn Conspiracy. I was there." The sonic screwdriver beeped loudly and sharply, sounding almost as if it were annoyed. The Doctor's face lit up. "I've got it!"

"Quickly, Doctor!" Makkinen urged him. The wall was now less than three feet from the sarcophagus and the grabs were stretching toward her.

The Doctor pressed his sonic screwdriver to the wall and activated it. A square panel about two feet by two feet disappeared, revealing a small console with some buttons and a video screen.

"That's it?" Makkinen spluttered. "A fucking ATM? Oh great, so now we can all check our bank balances before we all fucking die!"

"It's the user interface," the Doctor told her. "An identification system that controls the traps and other devices. If I can override it and wipe the Cybermen's entries from the records I might be able to log myself in as a new user." He started fiddling with the controls.

The tip of one of the grabs scratched Makkinen's cheek, drawing a drop of blood. "What the hell good will that do?"

"It means the traps will obey me," the Doctor said, "and I can turn them off." He pressed a button.

The walls froze.

Makkinen pinned her back to the wall upon which she stood, holding her breath, staring in terror as the grabs reached out to her. They flexed, retracted and finally withdrew back into the sarcophagi, the stone lids closing over them. Makkinen let out a long sigh of relief and turned to the Doctor. He was immersed in the workings of the control panel, fiddling with it and adjusting it. Suddenly the walls started moving again, but in reverse, back to their original positions. Makkinen leaned a little nearer to the Doctor, brushed his chestnut hair away from his cheek and gently kissed it. "Thank you," she whispered.

"My pleasure," the Doctor smiled, not taking his eyes from the screen. "You Cybermen never change," he muttered to it. "Still functioning on the old symbolic logic system after all this time." He punched another button and then hopped down off the wall. "Coming, Commander?" he beamed, offering his hand to Makkinen.

Makkinen allowed the Doctor to help her down. "Coming where?" she asked.

The walls by now had returned to the positions they had held when the party had first walked into the hall, and the recesses with the doors in were back at their original depth. But now there were four more sarcophagi in the room, these four standing up on end like oblong pillars a couple of feet outside the recesses as if guarding them. The doors beyond were clearly open. The Doctor gestured to one of them. "The doorways were blocked by more coffin-traps," he explained. "But I've deactivated these along with the ones surrounding the mosaic and brought them out of the doorways so that we can explore."

"Explore?" Nielsen interrupted before Makkinen could say anything. "We gotta get outta here, you jackass! This goddamn place just tried to kill us!"

"Oh, I do apologise," the Doctor smiled. "Well then, if you'd care to lead us to the exit..."

Nielsen glanced at the front wall where they had come in and there was still no door. He sighed deeply. "Controls for that not on there, huh?" he said, pointing at the little control panel opposite.

"I'm afraid not," the Doctor confirmed. "So if we're going to find the controls to open it, or perhaps another exit, we've no choice but to explore."

"Sorry Doc," Nielsen said glumly. "Where do we start?"

The Doctor looked at the four doors and pointed with a finger. "Eeny, meeny, miny... mo!" he said and strode toward one of the doors.

"We should split up," Makkinen said. "We'd have more chance of finding an exit if we're all searching, and we'd do it quicker if we separated and searched all the annexes at once."

The Doctor nodded. "You have a point."

She looked around at her own troops. "Lieutenant Kivilahti, south-west door," she ordered. "Sub-Lieutenant Venalainen, south-east. Sergeant Korhonen, you will take the north-west door. I'll be going north-east with the Doctor. Corporal Isokoski, stay here with the civilians."

"Hey!" protested Nielsen. "I'm not staying here on my ass while you go digging around out there. We don't even know if we're safe in here."

"You're perfectly safe," the Doctor told him. "I've switched all the dangers off."

"I don't give a shit, Doc," Nielsen snapped. "If I'm gonna be stuck in this building, then I wanna at least be doing something."

"Yeah," Cody Prince added. "I'll go with that."

Makkinen sighed. "Doctor?"

"I suppose we'll have to integrate the remaining two archaeologists and the one, two, three..." the Doctor made a head count.

"Ten," said Nielsen.

"Ten drill riggers," the Doctor continued, "into our survey teams. At least twelve is easily divided by three so there'll be no quibbling about who gets the odd man."

"You're the odd man on this survey, Doctor," Makkinen smirked. "Why three? Four doors, four parties." She indicated the doors in their corners.

"You and I will be exploring alone," the Doctor said. "There are things we need to talk about."

Makkinen looked sadly at him. "Yes, there are," she said quietly. "Shall we go?"

"Of course," the Doctor nodded and strode through the door.

Makkinen turned to her troops. "Constant radio contact," she ordered sharply. "Any one of you so much as farts, I want to hear it."

"Yes, Commander," her troops chorused as she vanished.

Lieutenant Kivilahti looked around. "Well, let's get moving everyone. Pick who you're going to take with you and get going as soon as you have your full compliment. Remember, we have no idea what we're dealing with and we can't be sure that every trap in the building has been made safe, even if the ones in here are all right, so be careful."

Kivilahti, Venalainen and Korhonen nodded their assent and picked team members. Venalainen took Nielsen, Ramirez, Hart and Schultz of the riggers. Kivilahti took Gleason, Fellows, Carney and Pirillo. That left Korhonen with Prince and Russell of the riggers and the two archaeologists, Eversleigh and Randall. No one noticed that Azikiwe had disappeared.

The scene was unfamiliar to Lomax, despite the fact that she had stood on this very spot only a few weeks before. The snowfalls since had taken care of that, like the sandstorms in the desert, reshaping the landscape and settling everything down fresh and unbroken and new, like a new world being born each day. Anyone else, anyone who gave credit to such things as passion and poetry, might have considered this cycle of nature beautiful, impressive and mysterious. Lomax just found it irritating. She surveyed the vista through her goggles for a few moments and then turned to Forrester. "You're sure these are the exact same coordinates?"

Forrester examined the small computer pad he was carrying, and then passed it to Lomax. "As you can see," he said casually, the smooth, courteous butler act now long-dissolved and his natural Manchester accent restored, "this is the exact same place we left the bodies." He glanced down at the snow beneath his feet. "We're probably walking right over them."

"Probably," Lomax agreed dismissively, not honestly giving a damn whether he was right about the graves being under their feet or not. She examined the computer pad for herself. "We can move up that way," she said, pointing to a curving ice slope ahead and to the right. "When we get to the top we should be able to see the drill, and that'll give us a bearing."

"Won't the drill be guarded?" asked Forrester.

"They're oil riggers, not soldiers," Lomax snapped. "The UNIT lot are definitely here, but according to Mr Azikiwe's camera they've all gone down. Far too interested in our little ziggurat. There are twelve riggers and ten of them are down there too. The other two are just maintenance engineers, staying here to make sure the rig doesn't freeze up. They'll be easy enough to deal with."

Forrester shrugged. "What about the rig, then?"

"Leave it," Lomax replied. "It's not important. It's done what we wanted it to do." She started to march up the slope, and Forrester followed her.

There was a sudden roaring sound overhead and Forrester looked up. "What's that?" he gasped, pointing into the air.

Lomax looked into the sky, which had been painted with a golden streak by something moving at incredible speed. "Some sort of missile," she said quietly. "Who the hell's firing missiles at the North Pole?"

There was an explosion in the distance.

"It's made impact," said Forrester. "Should we investigate?"

"No," Lomax answered flatly. "I don't like it. It's probably trouble and we've got plenty enough of that to handle today already. Let's get moving."

They'd been gone about ten minutes when a small portion of snow, a circle about three feet in diameter, shifted and then rose up above the ground supported by a shining cylinder of ice.

Sergeant Korhonen led his small group into the tunnel. The door he had been ordered to take led first to a narrow, sloping corridor that led downwards. It went quite a distance, deeper and deeper, and Cody Prince even claimed that his ears popped at one point, but the air was breathable and the pressure, as far as it could be measured, was safe. The floor beneath the party's feet wasn't smooth; it was inset all over with fine grooves, a tread to assist those walking upwards and prevent accidents that involved slipping. Anyone who slid down a slippery slope this length would surely come to an unpleasant end. When the slope did end, the passage opened out into a circular tunnel with gleaming, smooth metal walls that were patched with frost like an enormous frozen pipe. The floor here was hard but rubbery, and walking on it felt a lot like walking on grass. The pipe arced out of sight and to its end was a long march. Finally the group reached the end, stepping out of the pipe's mouth through a circular orifice into another vaulted room. This one was similar to the entrance hall in that all the walls were metal and the floor was concrete, but there were a number of recesses sunk into the wall that looked for all the world like giant tin baths, except that thick black wires snaked from their frames and hung limp inside. Cody crossed the large open space and reached tentatively out to touch one of the metal 'baths' and then the rubber cables inside. Squeezing them, Cody realised that they were rubber tubes like you'd find coming from a washing machine, but looking at their ends clarified the fact that they were nothing of the kind. Complex plug-type fittings with fearsomely sharp pins at their centres and some sort of gripping system about their rims suggested to Cody that they were, as he'd originally surmised, cables, the rubber tubing a thick insulator containing a core of wires.

"Be careful," Korhonen told him urgently. "Stand away from that. We don't even know what it is."

"Looks like some sorta cleaning plant," Cody said, examining the plugs. "Whole bunch of baths in case everyone in here, if there is anyone in here, gets dirty."

Korhonen frowned at him. "Do you see any taps or faucets?" he asked, pointing to the featureless depressions. "Any plugholes or drainage pipes? Whatever these things were designed for, it wasn't for the sake of taking a bath."

Cody shrugged. "I guess." He held up one of the rubber cables. "Whaddaya think these are for?"

"I have no idea," Korhonen admitted. "But it doesn't look nice. There's blood on those pins."

"Wha?" Cody gawked. He looked more closely at the pins sprouting from the cable in his hand. They were indeed clustered with what looked a lot like dried blood. "Someone has been here, then, and not sixty-five million years ago," he said. "After all that time there's no way that stuff on there would be recognisable as blood."

Korhonen shook his head. "Don't jump to conclusions. We don't know much about the atmosphere in here. It may have been seeded with preservative particles. Have you noticed in here how everything looks brand new?"

"Jesus," Cody breathed, looking around the room. Everything was shiny and gleaming and did look like it was just a week off the production line. "How the hell can they do that?"

"Who?" asked Korhonen.

"Whoever it was that built all this shit," Cody answered. "And I'm gonna tell you something: that Doctor knows way more than he's saying. He knows who these guys were and what they do. You remember what he said about Bryce and Styles when they were taken?"

"That they were going to be processed," Korhonen nodded. "I admit I'm not certain what he meant by that."

"Well I'm starting to get it," Cody said, carefully inspecting the cables. "It's some kind of surgical process, and it's done in here. They put guys into these baths, stick the cables in them and then do something to 'em."

Korhonen stared in fascination, padding over to look more closely at the apparatus. "But do what to them?" he asked, looking at Cody with concern and a hint of fear. "For what purpose?"

Cody dropped the cables as if they were diseased. "I don't know, but screw this exploration. There's obviously no exit down here. I think it's time we found out what we're dealing with."

"Confront the Doctor?"

"Get some goddamn answers out of him, yeah."

"The Commander may have a problem with that. She seems to have a lot of faith in him."

"If your boss has a crush, she's compromised," Cody grunted dismissively. "Never send a chick to do man's work, Sarge. Now come on, let's get back up there. It's time we put that Doctor and his friend in cold storage."

The emergency capsule was a wreck, but that wasn't important. The main ship would be moving in soon and after that the ancillary fleet. There was no risk of being stranded here. The small party of Cybermen set the self-destruct timer on the capsule to explode in one hour and then buried the capsule in the snow to prevent it being spotted before that time, and then marched away on their first objective.

The Cyber Leader had assessed the situation as soon as it had emerged from the capsule, and on the way through Earth's atmosphere it had taken scans and referred to information from the History Computer and included the data retrieved in its programme. It had factored every potential possibility into its options and even prepared a number of contingencies in case of unexpected events. "What is our position relative to the target coordinates?" it demanded of one of its troopers as it marched.

The trooper was holding a scanning box and checked its display. Then it pointed. "The precise target coordinates are nought point three seven kilometres in that direction, Leader," it reported. "Also my scans indicate four life forms in close proximity. Two humans and two Cybermen."

"Cybermen?" the Cyber Leader repeated, registering the discovery as unexpected. "Active?"

"Yes, Leader," said the other trooper.

"They must be located," the Leader ordered. It stopped and turned to its comrades. It indicated the two who had not spoken. "You will search this area for life forms. Any Cybermen found must be retrieved. Any humans must be captured."

"Leader," the other two Cybermen chorused and marched off in opposite directions.

"We will continue to the location of the anomaly," the Cyber Leader told the trooper with the scanning box. "It must be secured for the ancillary fleet."

The two Cybermen trudged off along the ridge.

Chimela Azikiwe carefully crept around the perimeter of the main entrance hall, making sure he kept a decent distance from the sarcophagi in case the Doctor had been wrong about switching all the traps off. He made sure that he stood still for a moment in front of each of the room's significant features so that his camera could get a good clear shot of them. His face was still burning and he was unable to rub it or scratch the itches because the blistered skin was fragile and would rip under his fingernails, causing his face to bleed. He didn't want to make it any worse and he couldn't make it any better. Only his anger and hatred kept him going now. The money that Lomax had promised him would be a small bonus now, rather than the whole value of the mission as it had originally been. Now Azikiwe's primary concern was revenge. He would make that Finnish bitch suffer. He would hurt her. Maybe he would destroy her face. She was beautiful, and she'd miss looks like those. She'd miss hers like he missed his. The money from this mission he could use to pay for cosmetic surgery, to get his old face back again, maybe even make a few improvements, but that wouldn't take away the immediate pain. Nothing could do that, and someone was going to pay for it.

"I don't know if you're still watching this, Miss Lomax," Azikiwe said into his hidden microphone as he paced around. "But as you can see if you are, I am inside the ziggurat. I was brought down here a prisoner, but I managed to escape. The ziggurat is inside a cavern thousands of feet down, and the cavern is vast. Outside the pyramid seems to be formed from tessellated slabs of black ice, but inside the walls are made of metal and the floor of stone, which suggests to me that the people who built it have an advanced technology that Man could not have possessed aeons ago, and also that they encased the building in ice as a kind of protection."

He skirted the sarcophagus ring slowly. "There are... there were... twelve sarcophagus-type objects inside the room, encircling a central mosaic that looks like a picture of the Earth, but with the compass points inverted. There is a strange man with the investigators, I don't know his name, but everyone calls him Doctor. He said strange things. Two of these sarcophagi, they... they swallowed two of the civilian archaeologists and took them under the ground. Now there are only ten in the remaining clock positions. The Doctor said that the two who were taken would undergo some sort of process and implied that the process would be something terrible. Also he called the mosaic a picture of Mondas, saying it is not Earth, as if he believes it is another planet. I don't know how this man can be aware of other planets, or even if he is genuine. I know too little about him. But he knows a lot about this ziggurat. When we entered, it was he who broke in and also managed to avoid many of us being killed. There is a trap that springs when the door is opened, a kind of cloud of energy that disintegrates anyone it touches. It only fires once each time the door is opened, I think. It certainly did not fire again once we were inside. Once you are inside, the door closes behind you and seems to disappear, as if it were never there. Even now I cannot see it.

"When we first came inside, we inspected the sarcophagi and as I said two of the archaeologists were taken. We backed against the wall, but the walls started to close in, pushing us closer to the traps. The strange Doctor managed to stop it, but during the panic I was given an opportunity to run into a dark alcove and hide. There is a computer panel here – the ziggurat actually has a computer system controlling its defences – and the Doctor seemed to know how to operate it. He reprogrammed it somehow and now the traps do not work as far as we can tell. I am still being cautious."

Azikiwe stepped away from the wall with the computer panel and stopped in front of one of the upended sarcophagi positioned in front of the internal doors. "I think this sarcophagus, and the others like it, are the same as those lying down around the mosaic, designed to be some kind of trap with..." he stopped as he heard a beep from behind him. He turned to look at the computer panel in the wall and quickly hopped onto the skirting to examine it. Something on the display had changed since he was there a moment before, but the display was all configured with strange symbols and no sign of any kind of alphabet. He couldn't read it. He hopped down and looked cautiously around the room.

There was a scraping noise.

Azikiwe whirled round and found himself facing one of the upended sarcophagi. He jumped back suddenly, hoping that he was in the right place to be too far away for either this sarcophagus or the one lying down behind him to grab him. It was opening slowly, the bevelled stone lid curving around to the side. Inside was grey and dark and it was hard to make out what was in there. Azikiwe tensed himself and waited for the grabbers. They didn't come. The lid slipped away and something huge inside the sarcophagus shook. Then it moved more distinctly, a dark arm slowly being raised, what looked like charcoal dust falling from it to the floor. Azikiwe froze, staring in horror as the giant dust-stained figure staggered out of the casket, shaking dust and silt onto the stone floor around its feet as it advanced on him. It was about seven feet tall and had a head, torso, arms and legs like a man, but its face was covered with some kind of cloth mask and there was a sort of lamp fitted to its head. It moved forward, seeming disorientated. Azikiwe hastily unzipped his coveralls and stuck an arm inside, reaching for the concealed gun in his pants. He managed to produce the gun and pointed it at the giant monster. "Get away from me!" he screamed. "Whatever the hell you are, get back or I swear I will blow more holes in you than you have fingers."

It kept advancing.

Azikiwe opened fire. He fired three times. There were three smoking bullet holes in the thing's stomach, just under the weird contraption it carried on its chest, but it didn't even flinch. "My God in Heaven..." Azikiwe breathed.

He darted around the thing, taking advantage of its disorientated state, and fled down the corridor that had been taken by Makkinen and the Doctor.

The Cyberman shook the rest of the preserving mineral dust from its body and adjusted itself, registering its surroundings and assessing its situation. It concluded that events had taken place as the computer had projected, that organics had come into the installation and activated the defences and the restoration programme. This was acceptable. The Cyberman finally righted itself and was cleared of its confusion, and it marched over to the wall with the control panel. It had clearly been interfered with, and by someone who understood symbolic logic systems well. The Cyberman noted this and prepared itself to deal with a potential threat while it reset the system and reactivated all the traps. Its instructions clear in its computerised mind, it also opened the main door and set it to remain open until the sentinels returned. Then it entered another command into the system, confirmed the release codes and initiated the next stage. Behind it, the mosaic of Mondas started to rise out of the floor. Eight inches of stone projected, followed by the dully gleaming metal of the hidden entrance housing. The circular metal cage with the mosaic on top of it locked as it stopped rising, now a ten-foot tower with a spiralling metal staircase within. Still trailing dust all over the place, the Cyberman lumbered into the cage and descended.

"You said you were there," Makkinen said quietly. It was clear that she wasn't happy. "You said you were with UNIT during the Vaughn Conspiracy and the Invasion attempt." She kept pace with the Doctor as they walked down the sloping corridor together, desperately trying to read him but getting nowhere. "You know about the Cybermen. You know about that planet that looks like an upside-down Earth... the planet you called Mondas. Do you know where I heard that before?"

"It came up in your research of the Snowcap Incident," the Doctor told her, struggling to hide his anger. But he was angry with himself, not her. He was angry with himself for not realising that the ziggurat was the work of the Cybermen. Their hallmarks were all over it. "It's the name of the new planet that appeared, the one that sent the aliens who killed your father."

Makkinen nodded. "So those aliens were Cybermen too?"

"Of a kind," the Doctor confirmed.

"And you were there also, weren't you?" Makkinen asked, stopping as they reached a pipe-like metal tunnel. "You were at Snowcap in 1986 when they came and killed him."

The Doctor stopped too, turning to look at her. His eyes seemed empty. "Yes, I was," he answered sadly. "I saw what happened there. I saw the death and destruction that the Cybermen cause."

Makkinen gently touched his arm. She was quivering. "Did you... did you meet him?" she whispered, almost in tears. "Anton Makkinen? A Finn?"

The Doctor shook his head slowly. "I didn't meet any Finns. I know it was an international setup and that there were people there from lots of different countries, but I only really met a handful of the personnel. I... I fell ill during the crisis and ended up being captured. I was trapped, but eventually rescued and afterwards I recovered. Felt like a new man." He half-smiled.

"But you didn't see him?" Makkinen begged. "You didn't see how he died? If he was brave?"

"I'm sorry," the Doctor said solemnly. "I didn't see him. I know that the Cybermen took some people from the base. I don't know if any of them were taken back to Mondas or just left on their ships, but I know when Mondas broke up the Cybermen died with it, and the ships were retrieved by UNIT and dismantled, the technology harvested and used in various space exploration programmes."

Makkinen sniffed up her tears. "I'm sorry, Doctor," she said. "I'm acting like a stupid child."

The Doctor brushed a last tear from her cheek with a finger. "It's perfectly understandable," he said reassuringly. "I don't hold your feelings against you. You lost your father and you don't even know how his last moments were. Finding out means a lot to you, enough for you to choose a military career just to get your hands on inside information. But please trust me, Kati. People who learn about the Cybermen usually end up regretting it."

"I'd rather regret knowing than regret not knowing, Doctor," Makkinen said firmly. "Please. Just tell me what they are. Tell me what they do. Tell me what you meant when you referred to a terrible process that would be endured by those two archaeologists."

"All right," the Doctor sighed. He took Makkinen's hand and led her into the pipe tunnel. "The Cybermen were once human in all but name. They were Mondasian, but anatomically human in every basic detail, and the planets of Earth and Mondas were twins."

Makkinen let out a breath. "How is that even possible?"

"I'm not certain," said the Doctor. "But I know that Mondas and Earth were basically set on a kind of internal orbit together, each acting as the satellite of the other, before the moon came along."

"The moon... came along?"

"Yes. It wasn't always there. It was a small planetoid hanging between solar systems and a supernova kicked it across the galaxy. By the time it slowed down it was in this solar system and it finally stopped and settled into orbit between Earth and Mondas."

"That must have caused massive gravitational disturbances on both planets. Weather that could devastate whole civilisations."

"And both planets' civilisations dealt with it differently. The dominant intelligent species on Earth, the reptilian people you erroneously call Silurians, withdrew below ground and entered suspended animation, a talent that the people of Mondas wouldn't discover for another few thousand years, and the Mondasians, still human by your standards but incredibly technologically advanced, ejected their planet's core and built a propulsion system."

Makkinen audibly gasped. "They turned the entire planet into a spacecraft!"

The Doctor nodded. "The dynamics of the project were staggering. Originally the plan was to drive Mondas to another solar system where it could take up a safe orbit, and then its people would settle down. But unfortunately the propulsion system failed."

"Why didn't they repair it?"

"Oh they tried. The trouble was that repairs had to be conducted on the surface and the atmosphere had been ripped away by the rigours of space travel. So severe were the conditions of cold and gravitational flux that no protective clothing was adequate. So they started enhancing the work crews to make them capable of surviving on the surface."

"Enhancing? How?"

"Do you know much about spare part surgery?"

"Pacemakers, hearing aids, breast implants, hip replacements, artificial limbs and stuff?"

"Yes."

Makkinen shrugged. "Only as much as most soldiers know. That you can have basic mechanical supports or replacements for malfunctioning body parts and... oh God..." She suddenly realised what the Doctor was getting at. "Those enhancements... they were mechanical prostheses?"

The Doctor nodded gravely. "Only nothing so simple or harmless as a pacemaker. Whole artificial respiratory systems were developed for them, as well as replacement joints and even technological devices to take the place of muscles, making the workers stronger with their powerful robotic arms and legs, capable of respiring in an airless atmosphere and almost incapable of getting tired."

"That's incredible..." Makkinen breathed.

"It's immoral," the Doctor replied. "Also, it didn't quite go according to plan. People on the work crews were strong and enduring enough to do the jobs on the surface, but their minds were still human. The cold on their human flesh, the gravitational confusion and the horror of realising that they were doomed and there was no way to reverse it was too much for them."

Makkinen understood. "They went insane."

The Doctor nodded. "And there was only one cybernetic cure for that."

"Computer chips in the brains," Makkinen said, getting the picture clearly. "They cut out emotion."

"And now," the Doctor said, "the Cybermen have burnt out everything human inside them, and they'll do the same with any life form they discover that's compatible with their technology."

"Including those two archaeologists," inferred Makkinen.

"And," the Doctor said, "if we're not careful, us."

The room at the end of the pipe was vast, bigger even than the entrance hall, and almost like a castle turret. The ceiling was so high that neither the Doctor nor Makkinen could make it out, although the gloom helped that illusion a little. The entire room would have been pitch dark had it not been for the thousands of translucent roundels in the walls glowing a cool blue. It reminded the Doctor a little of the way the TARDIS used to be before he redecorated, except darker and more eerie and cold. The roundels were bigger than TARDIS roundels too, about three feet in diameter, and on close inspection they appeared to be breathing. They were made of a rubbery material and slowly, rhythmically pulsated in silent unison. The Doctor pulled a magnifying glass from a pocket and looked carefully at one of the fleshy circles.

Makkinen stepped quietly up behind him. "What are these?" she asked, expecting him to be able to give her the answer without a second's thought. He seemed to know everything else about the Cybermen.

The Doctor seemed to be gazing through the circle rather than looking at it. "Cells," he murmured quietly. "The Cybermen seeded tombworlds throughout the galaxy. I admit even I'm surprised to find that their first one was Earth."

"Tombworlds?" Makkinen carefully repeated the expression. "Are you saying this is some sort of... of sepulchre? That the Cybermen actually have rituals of mummification, disposal of their dead?"

The Doctor put his magnifying glass away. "They're not dead," he told Makkinen simply. "The term 'tombworld' was applied to places like this by humans, who have a habit of oversimplifying things too vastly complex for them to understand."

Makkinen reached out and tentatively brushed the rubbery bump with her fingertips. It was freezing cold. "Stasis?" she asked.

The Doctor nodded. "Cybermen in hibernation, waiting for their wake-up call."

"But why?" Makkinen asked, puzzled. "Why would they need to sleep for so long?"

"Some sort of disaster," the Doctor said. "One that would have happened about sixty-five million years ag..." He turned to face the Commander. "The freighter!" he exclaimed.

Makkinen was none the wiser. "I'm sorry?"

"I'm afraid my own past has caught up on me again, Kati," the Doctor said bitterly. "I should be expecting it by now. This," he declared, spreading his arms in a global gesture as if indicating the entire ziggurat, "is all my fault."

"How?" Makkinen screwed up her forehead. "How is this your fault?"

"You know I travel in Time, don't you? It's in my file somewhere."

"Yes, I did see it. At first I laughed, but as I read the file I realised it was no joke."

"I did something... I'm going to do something, in the future," the Doctor told her. "In the twenty-sixth century I will, with the assistance of a military force and my companions, one of whom will sacrifice his life to save us all, prevent the destruction of the human race by a future group of Cybermen. My companion's attempt to reprogram and disarm a piece of Cyberman technology will cause a space freighter to slip back in time some sixty-five million years or so."

"I'm starting to get the picture," Makkinen said. "These Cybermen on the freighter crashed here but survived and built this ziggurat, right?"

"Wrong," the Doctor replied. "Wrong type of Cybermen. As you'll have seen in the files, Cybertechnology varies from group to group, those involved in the Vaughn Conspiracy having different attributes from those in the Snowcap Incident."

Makkinen thought about it, pictured what she'd seen in the files. "Yeah. I understand. So what's the missing link here?"

The Doctor continued his story. "Mondas had only just strayed from Earth in those days, the propulsion unit having been fired only a couple of hundred years after the moon arrived. But after the propulsion unit failed and it looked like the Mondasian Goose was finally cooked, they must have sent a team of Cybermen back to Earth to see if their neighbour had survived the gravitational changes. The freighter, by the most enormous coincidence, must have arrived just as that group did, and the destruction of the freighter's engines and resulting antimatter explosion then devastated the planet, destroying the dinosaurs and driving the Cybermen into hibernation. They built this ziggurat from the remains of their ship, which is why the walls are metal, and encased it inside a protective shell of chemically-impregnated super ice. The entire ecosystem changed during the storm caused by the antimatter explosion and the Arctic as you know it was born, the Cybermen buried under the ice for millennia, waiting for the right time to rise."

"Did they have some sort of alarm clock system, then?" asked Makkinen. "Is this the right time, the Day of the Cybermen?"

The Doctor shook his head. "I doubt it. I think that, like most Cyberman hibernation units, it's been waiting to be discovered."

"So that it can have specimens for the conversion process," Makkinen spat. "Meat for the grinder."

"That's an excellent simile," the Doctor smiled humourlessly. "I'll have to remember it."

There was a sudden loud bang, like a huge balloon bursting violently. Makkinen looked up as another bang sounded and something splattered her face. She screamed and covered one eye with her hand.

The Doctor produced his handkerchief and carefully took her wrist. "Let me see," he demanded urgently. Makkinen let him take her hand away. A tiny drop of freezing blue gel had dashed across her right eye. They eye itself was fine, as she'd closed it instinctively, but there was a sharp red line about four inches long running from just above her eyelid to her cheek, interrupted by her eye. The Doctor carefully dabbed at it, wiping the liquid away. "It's a cryogen burn," he said quietly. "It'll scar, but otherwise you'll be fine."

There was another bang overhead and some more of the freezing gel spattered on the concrete floor near to their feet. "Shouldn't we find shelter from this before we end up like that mercenary I questioned?" Makkinen asked.

The Doctor grabbed her hand and pulled her into the pipe tunnel. The fleshy, rubbery coverings of the cells high up had been exploding and were still doing so, spitting frozen goo everywhere, and shivering, jerking figures were crawling awkwardly out of the holes that were being uncovered, gripping the walls outside and pushing themselves out. They were covered in blue slime, but as they fell from their high cells and smacked onto the concrete with resonant clatters both the Doctor and Makkinen could clearly make out what they were. The lamp fittings on their heads, the bulky chest packs, the wires and tubes, the bracing limb clamps and those hideous cloth masks were unmistakable. The Doctor stared at the spectacle. "It looks like the wake-up call has finally come," he said quietly.

"Those are Cybermen," breathed Makkinen. "I'd kind of expected it, but I still don't believe it. Cybermen, just like the pictures I saw in the files, but alive and quite literally kicking. Heaven help us all."

_To be continued..._


	4. Episode 4

**Episode IV**

The two engineers lay dead at the foot of the rig, blood frozen to their bluish-tinted faces, eyes and mouths wide open, tools scattered around them. Lomax didn't even know their names, hadn't asked them and didn't care one way or the other. Killing them hadn't required knowledge of their identities or backgrounds. They were just a couple of Yank roughnecks who stood between Lomax and the coveted ziggurat. No one important. Even less so now that they were dead. They'd been relegated below even the merest priority. There was another machine juxtaposed with the rig, like a small crane about half the size of the derrick, holding up two metal cables that ran down into the round hole in the ice. Forrester was examining the machine and familiarising himself with its control systems. "Seems pretty straightforward to me," he declared finally as he sat back from the controls inside the small cabin. "The levers here operate the pulley system, and that reels the cable down into the hole for as far as it goes with a harness on the end."

Lomax was sitting in the snow, cleaning her gun. "We'll go down," she said.

"You want me to reel the cables in?" asked Forrester, gripping the control levers.

"No," Lomax told him cautiously. "That might be noticed. I have a quicker method anyway." She opened her rucksack and pulled out a short, flat, broad length of some kind of flexible, plasticky polymer. She attached a longer canvas strap to it and passed it to Forrester. "Put the canvas strap around your waist and then buckle the polymer band over the cable," she said as she made a second one up for herself, "and whizz! Down in about thirty seconds."

Forrester took hold of the strap and shook his head slowly. "You lead a bloody dangerous life," he said in a half-admiring tone.

"Well if I die, I die rich," Lomax smiled. "Who could ask for more?" And she pulled the strap around herself and got up, marching over to the hole. The cables running from the crane threaded into the darkness below and she reached over and snapped her polymer band around one of them. "Come on," she ordered. "We may not have much time."

Shrugging, Forrester snapped his band in place. "Ladies first," he grinned.

Lomax laughed. "Very sweet," she said. "But I don't think so."

And she pushed Forrester into the hole.

Tarel could hear something.

The signal was in a familiar language, not entirely intelligible, but the elements that were uncertain weren't beyond his capacity to extrapolate. There was a life form approaching too, and it seemed that the other life form was similar in its structure to Tarel, but different in a number of ways. Short-range analysis was possible, and Tarel scanned. The other life form's makeup was significantly like his own, internally organic and genetically almost identical to any Mondasian, and the technology that had adapted the organic into a stronger and more enduring form, although different in design and attributes, had been applied in almost exactly the same way as Tarel's technological enhancements had been grafted onto him. Tarel came to the only possible conclusion: the approaching life form was a Cyberman. It was a significantly different kind of Cyberman, but a Cyberman all the same. Had Cybermen advanced their technology since Tarel had gone into hibernation? This matter had to be investigated. Further scans indicated that the different Cyberman was armed with quite an advanced and compact weapon, and in order to reduce risk Tarel hacked into the approaching Cyberman's defence program and deactivated the gun. Tarel kept his own gun armed and ready just in case. He then sent a signal to the new Cyberman in reply to the partially deciphered message it had sent him. Four point eight three nine one minutes later, the Cyberman appeared within visual range, marching toward Tarel. Tarel held still, his weapon fixed on the figure on the horizon, taking no chances because his lack of knowledge presented a problem in that there were far too many variables to safely predict an outcome to this encounter. The new Cyberman was close enough now. "Stop," Tarel said.

The new Cyberman stopped. "I am as you are," it said. Reassurance was unnecessary, but knowledge of the fact might make this ancient Cyberman accept that it was not in the company of an enemy and surrender the password for the security lock it had laid into the defence systems. "We are Cybermen. I have been instructed to retrieve you."

"For what purpose?" asked Tarel, his fluctuating tones a stark contrast from the flatness of the new model's voice.

"You are to be reprocessed," said the new Cyberman. "Your systems will be upgraded. Cybermen have made significant technological advancements since your development."

"Where is Mondas?" Tarel asked. "I am no longer receiving signals from Mondas."

"Mondas is destroyed," said the new Cyberman. "Its constant travel caused corruption and it became exhausted. Attempts to restore it caused molecular instability that led to its disintegration ten years ago by the calendar of this planet."

Tarel recorded this information. Something was nagging at the back of his mind, but he couldn't reach the thought and try to ascertain what it was. It was something ancient and somehow dangerous, though Tarel could not think of a reason why. "How have you... have we survived without Mondas?"

"We have survived as you have," the new Cyberman explained. "Groups of Cybermen throughout the galaxies have seeded hibernation planets and colonies. Many thousands of compatible species have been found and assimilated."

"We have proliferated?" Tarel had not expected this.

"Billions of Cybermen exist in the universe," the new Cyberman told him. "Some groups do not survive, but the Cyber Race survives as a whole, represented in various forms, constantly proliferating."

Tarel registered something unusual. "What is the Cyber Race?"

"We are," the new Cyberman said simply. "We, and all who become like us."

"There are compatibles on this planet," said Tarel. "They are Mondasian."

The new Cyberman did not comprehend that statement. "They are human. They are the natives of this planet."

"They are Mondasian," Tarel insisted.

The new Cyberman decided to let Tarel have his beliefs. Tarel was not yet aware of humans, and they were very similar, almost identical in fact, to Mondasians, and this fact would be the reason why he believed them to be of his own race. After reprocessing had fixed his brain everything would become simpler and he would know the difference. "Reactivate my defence system," it said. "You are in no danger."

Tarel considered for a moment and then revealed the password to the new Cyberman. He registered that its gun had come back on. "Your defence system is active," he informed his new ally.

"What are your instructions?" asked the new Cyberman.

"Cyber Leader Velon has ordered that when activated I patrol," said Tarel. "All life forms are to be analysed and if compatible collected for processing. Collected specimens are subjected to synaptic neutralisers and stored."

"Have you collected any specimens?"

"Yes."

"What is the maximum period of viable storage?"

"Four hours only. Organics are weak and may perish."

"What is to be done with the specimens following storage?"

"They are to be delivered to the hibernator for processing."

"Time remaining for your current specimens?"

"Ninety-four minutes."

"We will take them to your hibernation unit," said the new Cyberman. "I will report to the Cyber Leader."

"Cyber Leader Velon is hibernating," Tarel warned it.

"Our group has its own leader," the new Cyberman clarified. "We will proceed now to the location of your specimens and retrieve them."

Tarel decided that this was a practical option and would be likely to present an outcome that included the completion of his tasks, and he marched off, leading the new Cyberman to the place where he had buried Kevin and Marko in the snow.

The huge, bulky figures on the hard floor seemed to shiver, their backs arching and their necks twisting in time with the spasmodic clenching and unclenching of trembling human fingers. Pale, bare palms pressed on the cold concrete and Cybermen slowly forced themselves up almost in synchronicity, their knees sliding under their torsos, trailing blue-grey slime everywhere, streaking the floor like snails. Slowly they staggered to upright positions, one by one abruptly ceasing to shake as their life support systems kicked in properly and stabilised them. More Cybermen were smacking onto the concrete around them, quivering and twitching, splattering the slimy freezer-fluid all over the place as they got up. Kati Makkinen watched them in horror, her eyes fixed on their strange movements, their jerking, lumbering human-but-not-human steps as they plodded toward the mouth of the pipe tunnel.

"I think it's time we left," the Doctor said quietly but firmly, placing a hand on Makkinen's shoulder and giving it an encouraging squeeze.

Suddenly she realised the urgency of the situation. Her mixture of shock and fascination had overwhelmed her for a moment, but she recovered herself, turned and without a word started running back up the tunnel. There was a noise up ahead, a loud, short bang that echoed, then another and another, some followed by a sharp whistling ping.

It was gunfire.

There was shouting too. American voices, an African voice. Azikiwe. Makkinen drew her own gun as she ran. She could see a group of figures in the distance, some waving guns, all shouting and arguing. Her head was splitting. She'd had about enough of Azikiwe already and couldn't think of a reason why she couldn't think of a reason to put a bullet right between his eyes. Maybe this argument would produce the excuse she needed. She dismissed the thought. The Doctor running up behind her, his breath on her back, reminded her about the Cybermen in this tunnel. There were bigger fish to fry than some cheap hired gun with an attitude problem. Getting in close, she could see that one of the figures holding a gun was Sergeant Korhonen, and another was Cody Prince. Azikiwe was holding a gun too. Where had he managed to hide that? There were a few other guys there too, Corporal Isokoski and two of Makkinen's other troops, another rigger and the last survivors of the archaeological team. Who had given Prince a gun? Someone was in serious trouble. Makkinen skidded to a halt. "What the hell is going on here?" she demanded breathlessly.

"I was just gonna ask you that," Cody Prince answered her in a sharp-edged tone, jabbing the barrel of his pistol threateningly in her direction. "What is it with you and him?" he nodded to indicate the Doctor, who had also stopped and fallen in behind Makkinen. "What do you know that we don't and why don't we know?"

"There isn't time for this," the Doctor protested urgently. "There are Cybermen in these tunnels."

"What in the name of Christ are Cybermen?" demanded Cody.

"Deadly," the Doctor replied simply. "And not even slightly within the capacity of your weaponry to destroy. So I suggest we get out of here before they catch up with us."

Cody pointed his gun at the Doctor's head. "You're not going anywhere, Doc," he snapped. "Not till you give us some kind of goddamn explanation. We wanna know what we're up against here, no bullshit and no half-assed half-answers, right?"

"Mitä vittua?" breathed Korhonen, interrupting the coup.

The Doctor looked up at him. He was standing behind Cody, staring past him and past the Doctor at something further back down the tunnel. Cybermen. "Kati, down!" the Doctor shouted, grabbing Makkinen's arm and pulling her to the floor with him.

"Holy shit!" Cody shouted. He started firing. Other guns joined the battle.

"It's no good!" exclaimed Azikiwe. "They're still coming. They don't even flinch. We can't kill them."

"The hell we can't," Cody snapped and kept firing.

A strange chime echoed along the tunnel. Cody screamed. His pistol landed three inches from the Doctor's face and his smoking corpse a little way behind it. The Doctor looked up and saw Azikiwe running away, accompanied by the others. Another chime rang out and the Doctor caught a faint glow in his periphery a second before one of the British archaeologists collapsed in a smouldering heap. "Don't run!" the Doctor shouted after them. "If you want to live, surrender."

The men kept running.

"Surrender!" Kati Makkinen shouted. "All UNIT personnel will surrender. That is a direct order!"

Korhonen, Isokoski and the other soldiers stopped, dropped their guns and raised their hands, turning to face the enemy. The Cybermen marched as a single unit along the metal gallery toward them, still firing the strange bracketed weapons they carried but now clearly not firing at the soldiers. Instead the Cybermen fired past the surrendering UNIT men, trying to take out those running away. Another man went down, but Azikiwe got away.

Two of the Cybermen reached the crouching Doctor and Makkinen. "Get up," one of them commanded, its voice exhibiting fluctuating tones much as any human being's might, except in completely the wrong places as if it didn't quite know how to use tone in its speech. "You belong to us."

The Doctor rose and helped Makkinen to her feet. "How d'you do?" the Doctor grinned affably in an attempt to persuade the Cybermen that he wasn't intimidated, despite the fact that he was. "I'm the Doctor and..."

"You will be silent," the Cyberman interrupted him. It seemed to transfer its attention to one of its troops. "Locate the fugitives and collect them," it ordered. "They are to be captured alive. They are valuable specimens." Its comrade lumbered off. "We know who you are," the Cyberman told the Doctor. "We are fully aware of your intentions and strategies."

Makkinen frowned hard at the creature, as if trying to wear it down. "How can you know?" she asked it. "You're only just awake after millions of years frozen."

"I have only been frozen for two point seven hours," said the Cyberman. "I was stored immediately after processing."

Makkinen raised a hand to her mouth in shock. "S-Styles?" she stammered in utter disbelief.

"No," the Cyberman answered. "The organic that was called Styles is in another part of this installation performing tasks for us."

"This was Hannah Bryce," said the Doctor. "I find it rather ironic that Bryce is an anagram of Cyber."

Makkinen glanced down at the Cyberman's hands. The fingernails were long, neatly manicured and painted coral pink. "A Cyber... woman?"

"All Cybermen are Cybermen," the Doctor told her. "There's no gender among them. They have their reproductive systems removed. They only really ended up being called Cyber 'men' because at the time of their creation the people of Mondas were a male-dominated society and only men were allowed the important jobs that would eventually require cybernetic enhancement. That was an issue they overcame with ease when male workers started to become scarce."

"They have no reproductive organs?" Makkinen gasped. "How can they survive as... a race? Races are supposed to proliferate."

"We proliferate through the assimilation of species," the Cyberman explained simply, its fluctuating voice as empty and devoid of feeling as if it were an echo in a tin can. "All compatible life forms are processed. They become like us."

"And what do you do with incompatible life forms?" Makkinen hissed through clenched teeth. "Huh? What about the creatures you can't assimilate? What happens to them?"

"We destroy them," the Cyberman answered as if it were talking about throwing a used paper towel into the bin. "Incompatible species can be divided into two categories: Category A is a species that is totally inferior and has no value within the Cyber Objective and Category B is a species that is or has the potential to become a threat to the Cyber Objective. Species that can be appended to either category are suitable only for destruction."

"So you just consume what you can and destroy what you can't?" Makkinen growled. "You are nothing better than parasites!"

"You are incorrect," the Cyberman answered. "We are superior to all forms of life and we offer that superiority to all forms of life, excluding those with which our technology is incompatible. The loss is unfortunate but unavoidable. In the future our technology may expand to a capacity that can allow for the integration of presently incompatible species, and in that case the suitable species can be added to our race and allowed to share in our mastery."

Makkinen could hardly believe what she was hearing. "You speak as if you were doing these species a favour!" she spat.

"We are improving their quality," the Cyberman agreed. "Organic species feel pain. They contract diseases. They live for only limited periods. Cybermen do not feel pain. We are not impaired by bacterial infections. We do not die unless as a result of exposure to severe attack. Many Cybermen here are millions of years of age. You could not live for one million years, and if you did then you would eventually lose your sanity."

"At least I would still be able to laugh and cry, to love and hate, to have sex and make children!" Makkinen retorted.

"These things are not important," said the Cyberman. "When we have removed the need for them from your brain you will not miss them. They will lose all relevance and then you may proceed in the achievement of goals without the inhibitions caused by emotion."

Makkinen was ready to lash out, but the Doctor carefully placed a hand on her shoulder. "You can't reason with them, Kati," he told her. "They're too different. You're arguing in human terms, and these creatures stopped being human as soon as they entered their processing berths."

"Human?" the Cyberman repeated the word aloud, as if testing it. "I do not understand that word."

"Human," said Makkinen, "is the thing you were. Human is what Hannah Bryce was. Her species."

The Cyberman seemed dismissive of the information. "You are mistaken," it said. "We are Mondasian in origin. We are all Mondasians."

The Doctor shook his head. "These other Cybermen may have originally been Mondasian," he said, waving a hand in the direction of the other Cyber troops. "But you, you were human. You were Hannah, a human being. A native of the planet Earth."

"Earth has no surviving native species," said the Cyberman. "The antimatter explosion destroyed them all."

The Doctor remembered that explosion and how he had himself had a hand in it. "It destroyed the dinosaurs, yes," he explained to the Cyberman, "but life endured in other forms. Apes that..."

"No," the Cyberman interjected. "You are not correct. All life on Earth was destroyed except us. The giant reptiles perished, the other animals, the insects, the plants and bacteria, all were completely erased from this planet. Every surviving species on Earth belongs to us."

The Doctor was completely shaken. He barely knew what to say. "What are you saying?" he demanded. "That everything on Earth, the trees and flowers, the cats and dogs, the spiders and snakes... even the human race, is originally from Mondas?"

"Yes," said the Cyberman. "Our party was an expeditionary force from Mondas and our objective was to make this planet habitable for our people in the event that they did not all become Cybermen. Mondas at that time had already left the solar system but our people were aware of the planet's potential. They had already considerably developed the surface, redesigning its topography to resemble that of Mondas, but we had not visited the surface. Our expedition was sent back to Earth to make it viable for colonisation. We brought with us specimens of all forms of life on Mondas, from the smallest bacterium to the largest animal, all placed in suspended animation and supported by genetic replication units so that examples of each species could be seeded on the surface and allowed to multiply and spread. When we arrived there was another spacecraft in orbit and it crashed on the surface. We were dragged down in its wake but our pilot managed to break us free. The other craft's impact caused an antimatter explosion and had our craft not been buried it would have destroyed us."

"That's why the Silurians weren't destroyed," the Doctor observed. "They were in hibernation deep underground. So at least one native species survived..."

"Silurians?" asked the Cyberman.

"It doesn't matter," said the Doctor. "What matters is that you claim responsibility for all life on Earth, right down to human evolution. So tell me, if you're right and the human race is descended from Mondasians, why is there clear historical evidence of primitive, more feral and uncivilised humans dating back almost to the time of your little disaster?"

"We had no living specimens aboard our craft," the Cyberman suggested as a possible explanation for the mismatch of data. "We had only cells and genetic replication equipment, and it was activated accidentally when our craft became damaged. We were forced into hibernation to survive the storm created by the antimatter explosion. It is possible that the storm's effects corrupted the first living specimens of sentient life to emerge."

The Doctor frowned. That was pretty plausible in the scheme of things, and he really had no choice but to accept it. "I should've guessed that the similarities were too enormous to be coincidental. Basically identical planets with basically identical species and accident? No. Terraforming and migration. It makes me want to hit myself with a hammer."

"That would be unwise," said the Cyberman. "Your brain is valuable. You will come with us now to be processed. After processing you will understand." It gestured with its weapon, and the Doctor, Makkinen and the other UNIT troops filed down the corridor ahead of it.

The cavern was massive.

Forrester stared around in awe at the magnificent spectacle surrounding the space where he hung thirty feet in the air, slowly taking it all in as he carefully edged down the remainder of the cable with his legs, his strap holding him in place like a makeshift harness. In case the lines had no blockers on the ends to stop anyone 'whizzing' down them from falling to their deaths, both Lomax and Forrester had slowed down as soon as they'd come out of the other end of the borehole into the cavern. Now, as he swung slowly toward the floor, Forrester was stunned to see how fantastic it all was. There was a real alien artefact down here, a huge black pyramid on a kind of raised table of what looked like pure solid ice, accessible by way of a metal staircase from the bed of snow immediately beneath him. As he examined the snow, Forrester noticed something. "Boss," he shouted urgently, pointing at the snow. "Tracks."

Lomax followed the line of his finger with her eyes and after a moment spotted the swept-up lines in the snow, two parallel furrows, each about the width of a man, leading to the steps. "Looks like a couple of bodies were dragged up to the ziggurat," Lomax observed.

"The UNIT lot?" Forrester inferred. "Casualties or something?"

Lomax shook her head. She was almost on the ground now. "I doubt it. There's no reason to drag casualties to the ziggurat. Drag them from it, yes, but not to it. This is the work of someone else."

Forrester looked aghast. "You mean somebody else is here after that bloody thing?" he demanded, pointing wildly at the ziggurat as he caught up with her. "Oh great. It's bad enough we're here on our own without having more than one bloody fight on our hands!"

Lomax hit the snow. She rolled, cast off her harness, stood up and shook off the snow. She watched Forrester land a few feet from her with all the grace of a turkey attempting flight and stooped to help him up. As she dusted him off she replied with a short smile, "Don't worry. Everything is going according to plan."

"You mean these others… the ones with the bodies… are more secret employees of yours?" asked Forrester with suspicion.

"Hardly," Lomax scoffed. "But they're definitely part of the reason I'm here, and they'll dispose of the UNIT people for me without even realising what darling little helpers they've been." She slipped her rucksack from her shoulders. "Weapons check."

The two of them assembled their guns and grenades and prepared for battle, and then they turned and followed the tracks toward the ziggurat.

The Cyberman that had terrified Azikiwe into running into the tunnels and gone down under the mosaic of Mondas stood in the small control complex operating the remote revivification controls. The Cybermen were waking and soon they would all be ready. The control module was a simple area with a smooth white floor and a grilled metal ceiling held up by girders. There were two power stacks on one side of the room and in the centre a raised circular control console. The Cyberman stood at that console now, checking readings and running programs. Behind it a blue membrane that took up the entire back wall glowed and pulsated. The Cyberman looked at the membrane, observing its motions carefully and feeding instructions to the computer. Everything was in place and as it should be. The time had come. The Cyberman pressed a button and suddenly a cylindrical column of blue light burst from the translucent surface of the console. Within the confines of the beam was manifested a three-dimensional hologram of a Cyberman. Another button was pressed and suddenly the blue membrane in the background began to pulsate more frequently. It split a little and greyish slime oozed out of the split like blood from cracked skin. Another split appeared, and then another, and slowly the membrane continued to bleed. As the cryogenic goo touched the floor it evaporated, making dry ice clouds fill the small room. The Cyberman watched, silently observing the moment without awe or fear or pride, or in fact any emotion at all, as the membrane was fully split open and another Cyberman staggered out, slime running down its body and pouring off the edges of its chest unit and off its fingertips onto the floor. This Cyberman was a stark contrast from all the others in the ziggurat: it was taller by a couple of inches, and broader-built, and the valve-like glass sections of the tubes linking the areas of the head where a man would have ears to the cranial lamp had been tinted black. Also the skullcap was black, as was the outer frame of the lamp itself. The new Cyberman staggered out of its hibernation unit through the ripped membrane, shuddering and trembling as it lumbered forward.

The Cyberman working the controls seemed to stand to attention. "Cyber Leader Velon," it said merely as an acknowledgement. "You have been activated. Your functions have been scanned with the computer and you are functioning at optimum capacity."

"I am aware of my function capacity," Velon replied, his voice deeper and more resonant than that of his comrade. "I do not recognise you. What is your designation?"

"I am Cyber Drone Antti," said the Cyberman.

"I do not recognise that designation," said Velon. "Explain."

"I have been processed during your hibernation, Leader," said Antti. "There is new information about this planet. There are Mondasians here."

"Mondasians?" Velon had not expected this.

Antti continued. "Their civilisation has taken a different path," he explained. "They are not like us. They are as Mondasians were."

Velon considered. "What has our period of hibernation measured?"

"Several millennia, Leader," Antti told him.

"This is an error," said Velon. "It was not expected. Mondasians must have escaped from the preservation units and proliferated. They must all be retrieved. They belong to us. They will be like us."

It was at that moment that the Doctor was marched into the control module along with Kati Makkinen and two other soldiers, escorted by four freshly-revived Cybermen. The Doctor grinned as he spotted the black-flashed Cyberman. "Well, upon my soul!" he exclaimed with mock delight. "You must be the Cyber Leader! I expected there to be one. How do you do? I'm the Doctor…"

"I am Commander Velon of the Mondasian Expeditionary Forces," Velon said, raising a hand to silence the Doctor. "In the absence of a colony leader I have taken the position. You claim to be a doctorman. Explain yourself."

"I didn't say I was a doctorman," the Doctor said with a sharp-edge to his tone. "I said I am the Doctor." He dared to move in a little closer, aware that Cyber-weapons were trained on his back, and stood on tiptoe, trying to bring his eyes level with the cut-out circles where Velon should have had eyes. "Do you hear me? I am the Doctor."

"That is not possible," said Velon. "Your appearance does not match the avatar of the Doctor. Also I am aware that I have been in suspended animation for some millennia. The Doctor was on Mondas in the ancient times. He will have died many millions of years ago."

The Doctor then did what Kati Makkinen thought was the oddest thing. He took Cyber Leader Velon by the hand. Kati watched as he took the strangely human hand and placed it first on the left side of his chest and then the right. Then he looked up at the giant monster and smiled. "Unusual, no?"

Kati couldn't have been more stupid. She thought that this was one of the Doctor's diversionary tactics. She dived at Cyber Drone Antti, tackling his legs and crashing him against the console. There was a struggle, a Cyberman fired his weapon and Antti went down. He screamed as he went, and the scream sounded human. Kati was on the floor, on her knees. "Kill her," Velon ordered.

One of the Cybermen raised its weapon.

"No!" the Doctor shouted, diving between the Cyberman and Kati. "I'm of value to you," he said with his hands raised. "You've already made that perfectly clear. And I have a feeling that your Cyber Leader here, now that he knows who I am, may value me just that little bit more. I refuse to cooperate if you harm her."

"If you refuse to cooperate you will be killed," said Velon.

The Doctor whirled round and faced him. "Exactly," he said. "And then what use will I be?"

Velon was silent for a moment, as if considering his options. Then he raised an arm and waved his killer drone away. "Do not harm the female for the present," he instructed. "Guard her. If the Doctor indicates any deception, destroy her."

"Leader," confirmed the guard.

Kati looked up at the Doctor. Her face was streaming with tears. "He's alive, Doctor," she whispered, carefully brushing the cloth-masked cheek of the fallen Cyber Drone Antti. "And I think he's in pain."

The Doctor frowned at her. "It's a Cyberman, Kati," he snapped. "There's not a drop of humanity in it. Don't believe for one second it will thank you for your compassion. Leave it to die."

"What?" Kati breathed, horrified. "How can you say that? It's a creature, no matter what it's done!"

"It's a machine," the Doctor retorted. "Your sentimentality over it could be very dangerous."

Kati was about to get to her feet when suddenly the stricken Cyberman gripped her arm firmly but not in any way that would seem threatening. Then it said something. It said something that made Kati's blood run cold, and the Doctor's along with it.

"Katariina…"

Kati put a hand to her mouth, shaking all over. "Oh no," she stammered. "Oh God no. No no no no no no… you can't be."

"Katariina…" the Cyberman said again.

There was no doubt. She even recognised his voice, the accent sneaking back in now that some of the mechanical supports blocking it had been damaged. She couldn't hold back any longer. Digging into the cloth of the mask with her fingernails, Kati tore it from her father's face. "I'm sorry Pappa," she sobbed. "I'm so so sorry…"

_To be continued…_


	5. Episode 5

**Episode V**

A shriek cut the night like a laser beam, accompanied, strangely enough, by a long narrow streak of light. Then there was an explosion and lots of tiny flickering lights danced in the sky and everyone cheered. A pile of wood and long-abandoned junk burst into flames. Music played. People cheered and sang and danced. The pitch-black winter sky was ablaze with colours and more people rushed to light more fireworks. Rosy-cheeked children were ushered back a few more feet by their loving and concerned parents for safety's sake while teenagers stood closer to the bonfire. Someone was singing Tony's favourite song. He could hear it through the crowd and he wanted to listen properly. He pulled his hand from his mother's, almost leaving his mitten behind but catching it quickly as it fell from her hand, and ran to the source of the sound. A beautiful girl was singing – so beautiful, she was, prettier than any other girl, and about Tony's age – that great song. His favourite. She was standing by a wooden post, singing in introduction to the lighting of the newest firework. Tony was transfixed. He watched and listened, pressing mittened hands together and praying to God that he would never forget this moment. That beautiful child stopped singing and was moved carefully away by her father and Tony watched her go. She didn't go far, finishing up about fifteen feet from him. He would go and talk to her soon. He would tell her that he loved that song and that she sang it better than anyone he'd ever heard, and that she was beautiful. Maybe then she would ask him round for tea, or maybe he would ask her. But first he had to watch the new firework being set off. The Catherine Wheel was Tony's favourite, the best firework of all. He watched with excitement as the young man came up with the long lighting wick, a tiny flame glinting at its end, and touched the little blue paper strip sticking out of the Catherine Wheel. The young lad then fled as the Wheel started to fizz and sparks flew out of it. And then it whistled, the whistle building and turning into a high-pitched whizz as the Wheel spun so fast that Tony thought the post upon which it was mounted would soon be pulled from the soil and float up into the air. A few minutes passed and the Catherine Wheel sputtered and ceased to spark. A little purple smoke escaped from it, it fell silent and wound down. The children applauded.

"And that, my little flower, is how you got your name," Antti Makkinen said to his six year-old daughter as she watched the first winter fireworks, mounted on his shoulders in piggyback. "That beautiful little girl who sang, I talked to her, yes, and she lived not far from me. Every day I went to see her and every day she sent me away. But I kept on going for three years, and one day she asked me in. She grew up to be your mother, and when you were born, my very first daughter, I called you Katariina, in honour of the Catherine Wheel and the love I found standing in front of it."

Kati giggled at the story. It was her favourite. She'd heard it so many times but she didn't care, because it was such a pretty tale. She often told her mother, "I could hear that story a hundred thousand times or more, Mamma, and each time would be new." And she meant every word and never forgot that story. She used to spin for her father, standing on tiptoe with her arms outstretched, she would spin until she was dizzy.

"Spin, my little Catherine Wheel!" her father would crow joyfully. "Spin, spin, spin!"

She would laugh and then realise she couldn't hold her footing anymore, and then she would collapse into his arms and he would carry her to bed. She never forgot. She never let go. She never stopped loving him.

"Katariina," he said.

He remembered her name. He spoke in that strange up-and-down voice but now with his own accent and some shades of his original voice. And now he had eyes, real eyes like any man's, the same kind watery blue eyes that she had always looked into for reassurance and comfort. In all the times past she had looked for comfort in those eyes she had found it. Now they had no more to give and everything was gone, every inch of that wonderful man, every drop of his essence had somehow been programmed out of him, leaving simply an empty shell. An empty shell that kept saying her name over and over.

"Katariina."

Kati cradled the thing in her arms. She wanted to call it her father and love it as she had her father, but she knew that was something it couldn't be. And she wanted to call it a Cyberman and feel nothing for it, but she just couldn't do that either because it had a face and voice she knew and cared so much for and missed. "I'm here," she whispered to it softly, gently stroking its face. "I'm here for you."

"Step away from the drone," Leader Velon ordered. "It must be assessed. If it is still intact and capable of continued survival it will be reprocessed."

Kati looked up at the giant, bulky figure standing over her, gaunt and dark and threaded with tubes and pipes, standing over her but never looking down. "And if not?"

"It will be destroyed," said Velon simply.

"It," spat Kati, "is my father."

The Doctor crouched quietly beside her. "Do you really believe that?" he asked her gently.

Kati turned her face away. "I don't know. I don't want to, because if I don't believe it then I can let it die and not care. I can get up and just leave it to rust and get on with fighting the rest of these... these monsters... but I can't. It has my father's eyes and my father's voice, and it knows my name and keeps saying it."

"Katariina," it said again as if demonstrating her point.

She smiled down at it, brushing its cheek with her fingers. "Shh," she said soothingly. "Don't you worry. Everything is going to be fine."

"No," it croaked. "No... everything... is death. Around me the fireworks, but not fireworks. The earth beneath my feet and the Earth in the sky. Earth fades away, a world dies and still we stand. They come. They come and take us and bring us here. No one knows about this place. They want you to believe that."

Kati struggled to take it all in. "In 1986," she said carefully, thinking about what she'd just heard from the lips of a dead man. "When Mondas was destroyed. Cybermen survived and they brought you here, to this place?"

"Not Cybermen," burbled the dying creature in her arms. "Not us. Not like us. Humans, like you. A man. His name was... was... L... Llllllllll..." the figure began to croak and groan.

It died.

"Rest in peace, Pappa," Kati whispered as she closed his eyes. She looked at the Doctor. "He's dead," she said sadly.

"Then I suppose I'd better finish his sentence," said a woman's voice. "His name was Lomax, Marcus Lomax, and he was my brother."

Still crouched, the Doctor turned and looked up at the slim girl in a skin-tight guerrilla combat suit complete with a rucksack and guns plastered to every curve of her body. She had one in each hand too. Behind her there stood a stocky man, also in guerrilla dress and about as tooled up as a chap could be. But they weren't any big deal. The big deal was the presence of six more Cybermen, four of which were of a totally different design to the ziggurat natives. These had striated blocks mounted on either side of the heads with the more slender ear-tubes snaking around to join to the integrated mini-lamp helmet fitting. They had glass jaws that displayed the remnants of organic chins beneath and split faceplates, the dividing line a flexed horizontal curve between the eyes and mouth covering the space where a nose should be. Their chest units were sleeker too and integrated into a kind of shoulder-brace, and their body-containment suits were made of a more diverse polymer than those of their counterparts. Also they needed no huge bracket-mounting for weapons. They carried small, light tubular guns instead. The Doctor finally stood up. "I take it you're working for the Cybermen," he said casually. "I don't approve."

"I don't work for anyone, Doctor," Lomax replied. "I think you'll find the Cybermen are working for me."

The Doctor chuckled. "Do you know, you remind me of a chap I used to know, name of Tobias Vaughn. He thought the Cybermen worked for him, and do you know what happened to him?"

"They killed him," said Lomax. "I know more than you'd think about the Vaughn Conspiracy, and the Mondasian Incursion."

Kati stood up, looking daggers at the newcomer. "How did you get that information? That's protected data. No one is allowed to..."

The Doctor put up a hand to interject. "Kati," he said. "I'm afraid it's rather obvious that Miss Lomax here and her brother are ex-UNIT."

Lomax laughed. "Brother Dear is ex-everything. I needed his money."

"For what?" demanded the Doctor. "To finance a massive operation to steal the technology of the Cybermen?"

"Mr Azikiwe was right," Lomax gasped in staged surprise. "You really are a very clever man. Oh yes indeed, Marcus, bless him, found out about this place after the Mondas business. Some of the UNIT chaps sent to secure the area managed to find a way to shut off the connection between one of the Cyberman space ships and Mondas, so the ship didn't blow up. Marcus was one of those men. He hired mercenaries to kill the others and filched the ship for himself. Made a fortune studying it and selling each secret he uncovered one by one. Thing is, the Cybermen phoned. They wanted their ball back, you see. Trouble was they were so far into deep space it'd take them ten years to get here, and even then it would only be a small force and opposition might not be easily tackled."

The Doctor was getting it. "So he struck a bargain with the Cybermen. He proposed that if they gave him more technological secrets to sell to the highest bidder then he'd help them make a way through to Earth. This is beginning to sound exactly like the Vaughn Conspiracy."

"With a slightly different twist, Doctor," said Lomax. "These Cybermen..." She indicated the more modern Cybermen she had come in with. "...They had discovered that there was Cyberman technology here on Earth, their really old stuff. They found the ziggurat and told Marcus to start taking human subjects there for processing."

Kati suddenly stepped past the Doctor, glowering at Lomax. "Your brother... he did this." She pointed at the wreckage that used to be her father. "He brought my father to this, to become like this?" she was almost screaming. She pulled out her gun.

The Doctor jumped in the way yet again. "No, Kati!" he exclaimed. "That's not the answer."

"I'll tell you what the fucking answer is!" Kati snapped. "Get out of my way so I can kill this bitch now!"

A hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back hard, almost pulling her off her feet. It was Cyber Leader Velon. "Drop your weapon," he ordered. "You will drop your weapon now."

Her shoulder blade in agony, Kati dropped her gun. As Velon let her go she slipped behind the Doctor quietly and kept still. Carefully she whispered in his ear and he slid a hand around behind his back.

Velon marched over to the newer, sleeker Cybermen. He inspected one of them. It had black ear-tubes. "You are the Cyber Leader," Velon acknowledged. "You have come to relieve me of duty. What is your designation?"

"Designations are no longer necessary," said the Cyber Leader. "Identity is irrelevant."

"Understood," said Velon. He stepped back and pressed a button on his chest unit. For a moment he shimmered and as everyone watched the black parts on his helmet washed away to silver and suddenly he was an ordinary Cyberman. "What are your orders?" he asked in a much more typical Cyber-voice balance.

It still differed considerably from the fatter, more harmonised voice of the new Leader. "Have all of the hibernation units been activated?"

"Yes," Velon said. "All hibernation systems are at full function. We expect our full compliment to be revived within seventy-two hours."

"That is adequate," said the new Leader. "Is the processing plant active?"

"It is awaiting specimens, Leader," Velon said.

The Leader turned to its minions. "Take the humans for processing," it instructed.

"Except for us, of course," smirked Lomax, casually putting her hands on her hips.

A Cyberman grabbed her wrists. "You will come with me," it said. It was one of the antique ones.

Lomax struggled. "Shut up, you metallic moron!" she snapped. "If you remember, you're supposed to be on our side." She looked at the Leader. "Call your dog off, will you?"

The Leader stared blankly at her.

"Get it off me!" she shrieked. It started to drag her away. "Leader!" Lomax cried. "Leader! LEADER!"

"What have you got me into, you stupid tart?" growled Forrester as another Cyberman grabbed him and started to pull him out of the room. "I swear, if I get out of this I'll take your bloody head off!"

Cybermen took the soldiers as well, and finally one reached out for Kati. But Kati was ready for it. She had in her right hand another gun she had concealed and in her left the one she had insisted the Doctor take when he entered the borehole. As the Cyberman advanced, she whispered, "Spin, little Catherine Wheel. Spin one last time for your soul."

Standing in tiptoes, she shoved the Doctor hard in the back, causing him to drop to the floor as she had arranged when she'd whispered in his ear, and Kati began to pirouette like a ballerina, arms outstretched, discharging both guns at once. Many of the older-type Cybermen were hit, their cloth masks easily penetrated by the bullets. The newer-type Cybermen tried to launch some retaliating fire, but they mostly just hit the bodies of their cousins as they went down. There was mass confusion. Cyberman killed Cyberman in failed attempts to cut Kati down. She shoved a collapsing body into the small group of newer Cybermen, effectively barricading them for a few seconds and ran for the corridor leading to the steps. Damaged but still functional, Velon lurched after her, but the Doctor stuck out a leg and the Cyberman stumbled, enabling the Doctor to snatch its weapon. Velon turned to take it back and the Doctor opened fire. Velon's chest unit exploded and he crashed to the floor with a loud clatter. "Come on, Doctor!" Kati shrieked from the corridor. "Get out of there before they kill you!"

The new Cybermen, the only ones left in the control room now, were firing on the Doctor. He was dodging their blasts and many of them were hitting the console. The Leader held up his hand to call a ceasefire. "The revivification apparatus will be damaged," he warned them. "Let the Doctor go. He cannot leave this building. He will be recaptured."

"Ha ha!" the Doctor laughed. "One-nil to me, I think Cyber Leader." And he legged it.

"Contact the security drones on the upper level," the Leader ordered. "The Doctor is not to be captured. Order them to kill on sight."

Kati was practically breathless as she dashed up the metal staircase that had been concealed under the mosaic of Mondas, but she was still determined to get answers from the Doctor. "How much more of this do you understand than I do?" she demanded as she climbed. "How does any of this explain the disappearance of those geologists?"

"There never were any geologists," the Doctor puffed as he caught up with her. "They were mercenaries in the employ of Miss Lomax, paid to pose as geologists and then surreptitiously disappear."

"For what?" Kati panted. "Newspaper notoriety?"

"A honey pot for a swarm of cybernetic wasps," the Doctor explained. "The geologists, the black ice, the disappearances, it was all a stunt to get UNIT interested enough to send people out here to break into the ziggurat."

Kati stopped for a moment. She faced the Doctor. "They used us," she said near-breathlessly.

The Doctor stopped too. "Yes," he nodded sadly. "I'm sorry." And then he ran on.

Kati burst back into her run too. "Sick bastards," she spat. "So all this was a huge trap and that Lomax woman was behind it all the time?"

"Exactly," the Doctor confirmed. "Lomax's brother told her about the bargain he'd struck with the Cybermen. She got him to introduce her to his new friends, then killed him and took his place as their liaison on Earth. She found out about the ziggurat and sent Azikiwe to check it out and also to acquire some of her brother's old UNIT files on Mondas and the Cybermen, I should imagine. Azikiwe came back with exactly what she wanted and so she set up the fake geologists. Their disappearance provoked investigation, and so UNIT first sent in those archaeologists and drillers, a couple of which – Hannah Bryce of the archaeologists and Cody Prince of the drillers to be precise – were also in the employ of Miss Lomax. I noticed them avoiding looking at Azikiwe in case they gave away the fact that they knew him on several occasions."

"And they sent Azikiwe back to 'lay siege' to the archaeologists to make it look good in case we turned up early, which we did, proving it a good investment," Kati concluded. "Pretentious doesn't cut it, does it?"

The Doctor would have laughed had he had the puff. "The second time around, Azikiwe would've been wired with a mike and camera to send information back to Lomax once inside the ziggurat. That would be her signal to move in, use the Cybermen to eliminate us and then lay claim to the place for herself."

"Except that she'd have the Cybermen to fight for it," Kati pontificated.

"She had a plan," said the Doctor. "She knows as well as I do that the power stacks are unstable."

"Power stacks?"

"Those cone-shaped things in the control room we just left."

"Jesus! Why didn't you say? We could've blown them up! We had grenades!"

"We'd have blown ourselves up too, Kati. I said, they're unstable."

"Well a lot of fucking good that information's done us."

"Do you think?" the Doctor grinned. "Well, I might've made them just a little bit more unstable. I might've discreetly twiddled my sonic screwdriver while we were chatting with the Cybermen."

Kati suddenly realised what he was saying. "Shit!" she yelped. "How long do we have?"

"About fifteen minutes, I should think," the Doctor replied as they burst up into the main entrance hall of the ziggurat. As they emerged from the hole that had been covered by the mosaic, metal pincers swung in their direction, desperate to grab them and drag them below. The Doctor darted through, grabbing Kati's wrist and pulling her after him.

A couple of the pincers grabbed her.

"Doctor!" Kati screamed. "Help me."

The Doctor suddenly remembered he was still carrying a Cyberman weapon. He pointed it at the sarcophagus and fired into it. There was a kind of crackling sound and it belched black smoke, and the pincers fell limp around its sides. The Doctor snatched Kati's wrist again. "Come on!" he shouted urgently and dragged her to the doorway, now open thanks to Lomax. The floor was starting to shake.

"Is that an earthquake I feel?" breathed Kati.

"It's a lot more dangerous than that," replied the Doctor.

Together they dashed to the lines leading out of the borehole. As they ran down the metal steps, two Cybermen marched out of the doors behind them. They were older models. They opened fire, but the Doctor and Kati ducked. The stairs buckled under the continuing blasts and started to collapse. With only six steps to go, the Doctor jumped for the snow, pulling Kati with him. As he landed, he performed an excellent gambol into a sitting position with the Cyber-weapon at the ready. He cut both Cybermen down with ease. Kati got up. She didn't bother to brush the snow off her clothes, instead helping the Doctor up. "Come on, Doctor. We've got about ten minutes to get out of here!"

"Thank you," the Doctor smiled. Feeling no further need for the Cyber-weapon, he dropped it in the snow. The whole pyramid was shaking now, and the ground around it quaked in time, the earth rumbling like deep thunder. For a moment he glanced back. The black ice coating that had protected the ziggurat for millions of years was cracking all over. Deciding that it wasn't a spectacle worth risking his life to stay and watch, he turned and ran after Kati. He caught up with her and finally they stopped at the lines that hung from the hole in the ceiling of ice. "They lead back to the drill and they'll be on a winder."

"I'll radio the boys," said Kati. "Get them to run us up fast."

The Doctor shook his head. "Lomax will have killed them. This is the only way down and they won't just have stood aside and let her pass."

"Jesus!" Kati howled. "Then there's no way to get back fast enough!"

The Doctor held out his hand. "Give me your gun."

Kati was confused. "What?"

"Give it here," the Doctor demanded and Kati gave it to him. "Now hook your harness onto the end of the cable," he instructed her.

"What are you going to do?" she asked urgently.

"Just do as I ask," the Doctor told her. "There's no time to explain now."

Sighing, Kati hooked herself up. "In case I get killed, I just want you to know I love you," she said.

The Doctor was taken by surprise as he hooked himself up. "Do you?" he asked.

Kati shrugged. "Nah. I've just heard that line in so many movies and I've always wanted to say it."

"Right," the Doctor said, completely dismissing what had just passed between them. He raised the gun and pointed it into the borehole.

"Are you serious?" Kati laughed. "Thousands of feet and you can't even see the top! Nobody's that good a shot!"

"Hang onto your hat, Kati," the Doctor said and fired.

"Hooooo-lyyyyyyy-!" Kati cried as the line snapped back, whipping her into the borehole at breakneck speed.

Everything had gone quiet. Except for the rumbling sound and the shaking. It felt like an earthquake was coming on. Now that would be a thing – an earthquake thousands of feet under the Arctic! As he thought about it and about being at its epicentre, Chimela Azikiwe decided it wasn't a good idea to hang around. Carefully he felt around the inside of the bevelled lid of the sarcophagus in which he hid. This wasn't one of those sarcophagi that had loads of those pincer things in ready to drag people down to be processed. It was the one that the monster thing had come out of that had spilled dust everywhere and scared him into the tunnels. He'd been able to double back in the confusion and then hide in its old bed. He was sure he was safe now and there was nobody outside. He found the seam where the lid met the casing proper and dug his fingers into the little gap he'd left.

There was no little gap.

For the first time in his life, Azikiwe felt claustrophobic. He started to bang on the lid of the sarcophagus, not giving a damn if it was a human who found him or one of those walking dead as long as he got out. He was yelling, screaming for help.

Then he felt it.

Something was wriggling under his back, sliding outwards. He felt cold metal grip his wrists and pull them to his sides. Then more pincers gripped his ankles. Those things were in these sarcophagi too! Azikiwe screamed as the pincers all flicked out together and enwreathed his body.

The pilot checked the computer and fed in the latest information. Things had gone, as far as could be gleaned from recent transmissions, a bit wrong. There would be very little chance if any now of salvaging the abandoned Mondasian technology. It gave the computer all the relevant information, left out everything that wasn't vital for efficiency's sake but logged the non-essential information in case it increased in value later, and waited for a response. The computer gave its instructions and the pilot addressed the Mission Commander. "We are advised to abandon this course, Leader," it buzzed, using the new title of address immediately.

The Commander observed this and registered that the Cyber Leader on Earth had been destroyed before giving its response. "Is Earth of any further interest at this point?" it asked.

"There is a large population of mostly compatible intelligent species and also the planet's mass contains valuable mineral elements. There is a basic technology with some useful attributes."

"Contact the ancillary fleet," said the Cyber Leader. "Inform them there has been a change of plan. Earth is to be invaded, its resources both organic and synthetic to be consumed. The ancient legacy of our parent race is to be claimed. The Cybermen will have a new Mondas."

"There has been no response from the ancillary fleet, Leader," said the pilot. "I have continuously attempted to establish contact since we arrived in this sector, but there is no response. The computer has analysed the last known coordinates of the fleet. There is nothing there."

This was unexpected, but there was nothing that the Cyber Leader could really do about it. "Then either the fleet has moved on or been destroyed," it observed. "Locate the nearest Cyber-outpost and programme a course. We will obtain reinforcements."

"Yes, Leader," said the pilot. It fed the instructions into the computer and waited. The computer gave it the coordinates. The pilot checked and ranged the course, and then reported. "At maximum speed we will reach Bastion Three Four Nine Six Two in approximately seven point four years, Leader, and the same then to return with an invasion force."

"Proceed," said the Cyber Leader.

The sleek black torpedo shape of the Cyberman space ship slowly turned away from the Earth and its main engines fired. As it jumped into hyperspace it left no trace to suggest it had ever been there, but the fact that no one on Earth would know it had been simply meant that no one on Earth would be expecting it back in very nearly fourteen years' time…

"Thank you," said Kati Makkinen as the stewardess gave her the steaming cup of coffee she had really needed for the past day or so. She sipped it and reclined a little, resting her head on the soft pillow behind her and exhaled slowly.

"It's not over, you know," the Doctor said quietly from the seat next to hers.

She opened one eye and looked at him, frowning. He was staring out of the aeroplane window at the faint glow in the distance. The glow of the collapsing Cyberman base now far away, vanishing under the North Pole. Kati sighed again. "I know," she admitted. "There were more Cybermen in space, weren't there? Those different ones."

"That's right," the Doctor said. "And they'll be back. Maybe they won't be back tomorrow, or next week or next year, but they're coming, and you should be prepared for them."

"We will be, Doctor," Kati nodded. "I promise." She reached over and rested her hand on the back of his. "Thank you for helping me find my father."

The Doctor nodded slowly. "I'm sorry that reunion turned out to be less than magical."

"I miss him."

"I know."

Kati opened both her eyes now and turned her head a little to look at him properly. "And what else do you know, Doctor?" she asked with a slight smile. "You've been on UNIT's files for as long as there's been a UNIT, and yet you're still a mystery to us all. You appear from nowhere and go back to nowhere when you're done. You don't explain yourself, you don't tell us what you really are or why you keep coming back to help us. Could it be that even you are just a little bit human, somewhere deep inside?"

"Oh Kati," the Doctor sighed heavily. "If only my life were that simple."

**THE END**

_**This is the first in a series of original adventures featuring the Eighth Doctor. The next adventure in this series will be THE BEAST THAT PLAYED WITH DOLLS.**_


End file.
